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About Google Book Search Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers discover the world's books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through the full text of this book on the web at http : //books . google . com/| V-^iX:^ :->v' V >\\< ^ ' '--^! > • ;x /; m London labour and the London poor Henry Mayhew, Richard Beeard, William Tuckniss FROI professor » THI LI ■RARY OP Karl Jjeinrid? Hau OF THB UmIVMSITY OF HllDBLBMO PRESENTED TO THE UNIVERSITY OF MIOHIQAN mr. ■T pi]tIo parsons OF DlTROIT xszi Jigitled by Google Hv MS Digitized by Google Digitized by VjOOQ IC Digitized by Google HENRY MAYHEW. IFrom a Daguerreotype by Bbard.] Digitized by VjOOQ IC j / LONDON LABOUR University of) LONDON POOR; CYCLOPJIDLI OF THE CONDITION AND EARNINGS or THOSE THAT WILL WORK, THOSE THAT CANNOT WORK, AND THOSE THAT WILL NOT WORK. BY HENRY MAYHEW. VOL. L THE LONDON STREET-FOLK. BOOK THE FIRST. LONDON: OFFICE, 16, UPPER WELLINGTON STREET, STRAND. 1861.' Digitized by Google GEORGE WOODFALL AND SON, ANORL COURT, BKrNNRR STRRKT. Digitized by Google PREFACE. The present volume is the first of an intended series, which it is hoped will form, when complete, a cyclopaedia of the industry, the want, and the yice of the great Metropolis. It is helieved that the book is curious for many reasons : It surely may be considered curious as being the first attempt to publish the history of a people, from the lips of the people themselves — giving a literal description of their labour, their earnings, their trials, and their sufi'erings, in their own "unvarnished" language; and to pourtray the condition of their homes and their families by personal observation of the places, and direct communion with the individuals. It may be considered curious also as being the first commission of inquiry into the state of the people, undertaken by a private individual, and the first " blue book " ever published in twopenny numbers. It is curious, moreover, £is supplying information concerning a large body of persons, of whom the public had less knowledge than of the most distant tribes of the earth— the government population returns not even numbering them among the inhabitants of the kingdom ; and as adducing facts so extraordinary, that the traveller in the undiscovered country of the poor must, like Bruce, until his stories are corroborated by after investigators, be content to lie under the imputation of telling such tales, as travellers are generally supposed to delight in. Be the faults of the present volume what they may, assuredly they are rather short-comings than exaggerations, for in every instance the author and his coadjutors have sought to understate, and most assuredly never to exceed the truth. For the omissions, the author would merely remind the reader of the entire novelty of the task — there being no other similar work in the language by which to guide or check his inquiries. When the following leaves are turned over, and the two or three pages of information derived from books contrasted with the hundreds of pages of facts obtained by positive observation and investigation, surely some allowance will be made for the details which may still be left for others to supply. Within the last two years some thousands of the humbler classes of society must have been seen and visited with the especial view of noticing their condition and learning their histories ; and it is but right that the truthfulness of the poor generally should be made known ; for though checks have been usually adopted, the people have been mostly found to be astonishingly correct in their statements, — so much so indeed, that the attempts at deception are certainly the exceptions rather thsm the rule. Those persons who, from an ignorance of the simplicity of the honest poor, might be inclined to think otherwise, have, in order Digitized by Google iv PREFACE, to be convinced of the justice of the above remarks, only to consult the details given in the present volume, and to perceive the extraordinary agreement in the statements of all the vast number of individuals who have been seen at different times, and who cannot possibly have been supposed to have been acting in concert. The larger statistics, such as those of the quantities of fish and fruit, &c., sold in London, have been collected from tradesmen connected with the several markets, or from the wholesale merchants belonging to the trade specified — gentle- men to whose courtesy and co-operation I am indebted for much valuable informa- tion, and whose names, were I at liberty to publish them, would be an indisputable guarantee for the facts advanced. The other statistics have been obtained in the same manner — ^the best authorities having been invariably consulted on the subject treated of. It is right that I should make special mention of the assistance I have received in the compilation of the present volume from Mr. Hbnby Wood and Mr. Richabd Knight (late of the City Mission), gentlemen who have been engaged with me from nearly the commencement of my inquiries, and to whose hearty co-operation both myself and the public are indebted for a large increase of knowledge. Mr. Wood, indeed, has contributed so large a proportion of the contents of the present volume that he may fairly be considered as one of its authors. The subject of the Street-Folk will still require another volume, in order to com- plete it in that comprehensive manner in which I am desirous of executing the modem history of this and every other portion of the people. There still remain — ^the Street-Buyers f the Street-Finders, the Street-Perfumers, the Street-Artizans, and the Street-Labourers, to be done, among the several classes of street-people ; and the Street Jews, the Street Italians and Foreigners, and the Street Mechanics, to be treated of as varieties of the order. The present volume refers more parti- cularly to the Street-Sellers, and includes special accounts of the Costermongers and the Batterers (the two broadly-marked varieties of street tradesmen), the Street Irish, the Female Street-Sellers, and the Children Street-Sellers of the metropolis. My earnest hope is that the book may serve to give the rich a more intimate knowledge of the sufiferings, and the frequent heroism under those sufferings, of the poor — ^that it may teach those who are beyond temptation to look with charity on the frailties of their less fortunate brethren — and cause those who are in " high places," and those of whom much is expected, to bestir themselves to improve the condition of a class of people whose misery, ignorance, and vice, amidst all the immense wealth and great knowledge of '* the first city in the world," is, to say the very least, a national disgrace to us. Digitized by Google THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO DOUGLAS JERROLD, WHOM, KNOWING MOST INTIMATELY, THE AUTHOR HAS LEARNT TO LOVE AND HONOUR MOST PROFOUNDLY. Digitized by Google LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. London Ck)STSRU0NaEB Page 13 Thb Coster Girl „ 87 The Oyster Stall „ 49 The Orange Mart (Duks*s Plage) „ 7d The Irish Street-Seller ,,97 The Wall-Flower Girl ,,127 The Groundsell Han „ 147 The Baked Potatob Man „ 167 The Coffee Stall To fiice page 184 costbr bot and girl " tossino thb plexan " .... „ 196 Doctor Bokankt, the Street-Herbalist „ 206 The Long Song Sellbb ,,222 Illustrations of Street Art, No. I „ 224 „ „ No. II „ 238 Thb Hindoo Traot Seller „ 242 The "Kitchen," Fox Court ,,261 Illustrations ofIStreet Art, No. Ill „ 278 The Book Auctioneer „ 296 The Street-Seller of Nutxeg-G raters „ 830 The Street-Seller of Dog-Collars „ 360 The Street-Seller of Crockertwarb „ 866 The Blind Boot-Lace Seller „ 406 Thb Street-Seller of Greasb-Rbmotino Composition ... „ 428 The Lucifer-Match Girl „ 432 The StrebtSellkr of Walking-Stioks „ 438 Thb Street-Seller of Rhubarb and Spice „ 452 Thb Street-Seller of Coxbs „ 458 Portrait of Mr. May hew To face the Title Page Digitized by Google INDEX. Alts (fine), street-iellen of, 301 1 capital and inoome of, 306 Art (street), 901 Author and poet (street), experienoe of, «7» Ballad minstrelsy in the streets, anoteit and modem* 273 Ballads (street) on a sutrieet, S7A Back numbers, street sale of, 889 Beggar street-sellers, 369 statement of a, 414 Beetle wafers, street-sellers of, 43ft Billingsgate, description of, 04 market, quanUty and weight of fish sold in, 63 Blacking and Dlack-lead, street-sellers of, 42ft Blind street-seller of boot4aces, 30ft — female street-seller of small wares, 383 street seUer of tailors' needles, 340 boot-lace seller, life of, 40ft Book auctioneers (street), 896 Booksellers (street), 892 experience of, 294 Books sold in the streets, character of, 893 (memorandum) and almanacks, street sale of, 871 (pocket) and diaries, street sale of, 871 (song), street sale of, 898 (chlMren's), street sale ott 896 (guide), street sale of, 899 (account), street sale of, 809 Boot and stay4aces, street-sellers of, 301 Boys of the costermongers and their " bunse,** 33 Braces, belts, hose, trowser«traps, and waistcoats, street- sellers of, 389 Bread, street sale of, 178 Broadsheets, street sellers of, 880 Buns (hot-cross and Chelsea), street-sellan of, 901 Butter, cheese, and egn, 189 Cake, strect-scllerB of, 199 Cakes and tarU, street-sellers of, 198 Cards (engraved), street-sellers of, 866 (gelatine), street-sellers of, 806 (playing), street-sellers of, 866 (race) and lists of races, street-sellers of, 96ft (short-hand), street-sellers of, 861 Card-counters, medals, &c., street-sdlers of, 340 Cats' and dogs'-meat, street-sellers of, 181 Cement for glass and china, street-aelters of, 489 Chaunters, expcrimce of, 226 Cheap John, or street hansellers, 396 life of a, 336 Chemical articles of manufacture, street-sellers of« 485 Chick weed and groundsell, street-sellers of, lft3 Children in low lodging-houses, 857 causes wbkh mfluenoe them to take to a street career, 478 — as street-sellers sent out by parents 479 Christmasing. laurel, ivy, hoUy, and mistletoe, street- sellers 0(7141 Cigar lights or fuaees, street-sellan of, 433 Cigars, sueet-sellers of, 441 •* Cocks," Ac, 238 Co£fee-stall keepers, 183 Comic exhibitions, magical delusions, ftco., street-sellers of, 286 Conundnmis, street-sellers of, 88ft Conveyance of costermongers and other street-folk, 86 Corn-sal vc, street-sellers ofT 428 Costermongers, ancient calling of. 7 ~— and other street-folk, number of, 4 capital of, 29 capital and inoome of, ftft children, education of, 24 cries, rounds, and days of, fi2 diet and drink of, ft2 donkeys of, 29 dress of, 51 — — earnings of, 54 — — education of, 3ft — gambling of, 16 habits and amusements of, 11 — homes of, 47 honesty of, 96 iuvenile trading of, 35 language of, 23 literature of, 25 markets and trade rights of, 06 — marriage and concuunage of, 20 -— nicknames of, 24 obsolete cries of, 8 — politics of, 20 — — providence and improvidence of, 50 girl, fid. Costermongers, raffles of, 58 religion of, 21 removal from streets of, 39 triciu of, 61 uneducated state of, 28 Costermongerlng mechanios, 7 Costermongers and thieves, 46 — in bad weather and during the cholera, 57 — on their country rounds, 53 the more provident, 46 economically considered, 8 Coster boy, hired, 481 Coster girls, 43 irl, Ufe of a, 45 id, life of a, 39 education of, 35 Cotigh-drops and medical confectionery, street-sellers 0^205 Country lodging-houses, 423 Crackers and detonating balls, street-sellers of, 430 Crippled seller of nutmeg-graters, 389 Crockery and glass-ware, street-sellers of, 365 Covent-garden market, 81 Curds and whey, street sale of, 199 Cutlery, street-sellers of, 338 Death and fire hunters, 928 Dog collars, sueet-sellers of, 358 Dog-collar seller, life of a, 390 Dolls, street-sellers of, 445 Drinkables, street sale of, 183 Duffbrs, or hawkers of pretended smuggledgoods, 883 Eatables and drinkables, street-sellers or, 258 capital and income of, street-sellers of, 808 sums spent yearly upon, 812 Elder wine (hot), street-sellers of, 189 Engravings in umbrellas, street -sellers of, 368 Female street-sellers, localities In which they reside, 461 education, state of, 468 diet of, 462 Fish, kind and qualitr of sold In London, 61 season of the costermongers, 63 annually sokl in the streets of London, gross value of, 77 («' dry ") selling in the street, 77 flruit, and vegeubles, stationary street-sellers of, 96 street-sellers of, 61 Flower-girls (London), 134 girls, life of, 136 roots, shrubs, and trees, quantity sold in the streeu, 130 Flowers, buyers of those sold in the streets, 130 (cut and in pots), trees, shrubs, roots, seeds, and branches, street-sellers of. 130 to pots, roots, street-sale of, 137 — " cut," quantity of sold in streets, 137 . . trees, shrubs, table showing quantity of sold whole- sale at markets and retail in the streets, 131 Flower-girls, two orphan, 135 Ply-papers, street-sellers of, 435 Forestalling markets and Billingsgate bummarees, 67 French polish, sellers of, 487 Fried fish, seUers of, 165 preparation of, 165 seller, experience and customers of, 169 Fruit (green) selling in the streets, 83 stall-keepers, 99 i— and vegetable season of costermongers, 81 and vegeubles sold annnally in London streets, gross value of, 95 street-sellers of, 79 - — kind and quantity of sold in the London streets, 79 (home-grown), quantity sold in metropolitan mar- kets, and proportion sold retail in streets, 80 foreign, 81 «'dry."01 •* Gallows" literature of the streets, 990 Game, rabbits, and poultry, sold In the streets, 121 hawker, experience or, 124 Ginger-beer seller, experience of, 189 sherbet, and lemonade, street-sale of, 186 Ginger-bread nuts, street-sellers of, 190 Grease-removing compositions, street-sellers of, 487 Green stuff, street-seliers of, 145 Gutta-percha heads, street-sellers of, 434 Haberdashery swag-shops, 373 Ham-sandwich seller, experience of, 177 — — street-sellers of, 177 Hawkers, pedlars, and petty chapmen, 374 Hawking butcher, experience of, 176 Digitized by Google INDEX, Hot eels and pea-soup man, experience of, 162 green-pea seller, experience of, 180 green-peas, street-sellers of, 180 ** House ox Lords," a street-sellers' defunct club, 364 loes and Ice-creams, street-sellers of, 206 Indecent (sham) street-trade, 240 Irish, causes which made them turn oostermongeis, 105 •— — lodging-houses for immigrants. 111. ** refuse " sellers, 117 street diet, drink, and expense of living among, 113 education, literature, amusements, and politics of, 108 how they displanted the street Jews in the orange ckness. of, 436 OS, 291 eristics >eeUen )f,290 le, and Prostitute, statement of a, 412 Public-house hawkers of metal spoons, 344 Publishers and authors of street literature, 280 Puddings (boiled), street-seller ot, 197 Rabbit-selling in the streets, 129 Razor-paste, street-sellers of, 429 Reduced aentlewoman and a reduced tradesman, as street-sellers of stationery, 269 Religious tract-sellers, 241 Rhubarb and spice, street-sellen of, 452 Rice milk, street-sellers of, 193 Rings and sovereigns for wagers, street-aellen of, 361 Roasted chestnuts and apples, 90 Roulette-boxes, street-sellers of, 449 Runaway street-boys, two, 483 " Screevers," or writers of beigging letters and peti- tions, 311 Second editions, sellers of, 230 Seeds, sale of, 139 Sheeps'-trotter seller, statement of a, 171 Sheeps'-trotters, street-sellers of, 170 preparation of, and quantity sold, 170 Shell-fish sellers in the streets, 69 Shrimp selling, 72 Single woman street-seller, a, 463 '* Slang" weights and measures, 32 Small ware, street seUezs of, 385 Smithfield races, 27 Snuff-boxes, street-sellers of, 440 Song sellers (long), 221 Songs, street-sellers of, 272 Spar, china ornaments, and ttone fVult, street-sellers of, 370 Spectacle and eye-glasses, street-sellers of, 444 Sponge, street-sellers of, 442 Sprat selling in the streets, 69 Stationery, literature, and fine arts, street-seller of, 213 street-sellers of, 267, 306 Stationers (street), and street card sellers, 261 experience of, 267 capital and income of, 306 Stalls (street), character of, 99 number of, 96 Sticks (walking), street-sellers of, 437 •• Strawing," 239 Street children, amusements of, 476 — clothing of. 476 diet of, 475 dwelling-places of, 475 education of, 472 morals, religion, opinions of, 474 propensities of, 477 Street-folk In general and costermongers in particular, varieties of, 6 Street^seller, "neglected" chUd, 480 Street-sellers, public meeting of, 102 Swag-barrowmen, 447 Swag-shom of the metrop-a8 old shoes, old clothes, old saucepan lids, ftc*, ftc. 7. The Street-sellers qfLive Anknals — including the dealers in dogs, squirrels, birds, gold and silve%fish, and tortoises. 8. The Stteet-mUers tf Mineral Productions and Curiosities — as red and white sand, silver sand, coals, coke, salt, spar ornaments, and shells. !rhese, 80 far as my experience goes, exhaust the whole class of street-sellers, and they appear to constitute nearly three-fourths of the entire number of individuals obtaining a subsistence in the streets of London. The next class are the Street- Buyers, under which denomination come the purchasers of hare- skins, old clothes, old umbrellas, bottles, |lass, broken metal, rags, waste paper, and drippmg. After these we have the Street-Finders, or those who, as 1 said before, literally "pick up" their living in the public thoroughfares. They are the " pure " pickers, or those who live by gather- ing dogs'-dung ; the cigar-end finders, or " hard- ups," as they are called, who collect the refuse pieces of smoked eigars from the gutters, and having dried them, sell them as t<)bacco to the very poor ) the dredgermen or coal-finders ; the mud-larks, the bone-grubbers; and the sewer- hunters. • Under the fburth divirion, or that of the Streit-Pbrformerb, Artist^ and Show- men, are likewise many distinct callings. 1. The Street-Performers, who admit of being classified into (a) mountebanks — or those who enact puppet-shows, as Punch and Judy, the fan- Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, toccini, and the Chinese shades, {b) The street- performers of feats of strength and dexterity — as "acrobats" or posturers, "equilibrists" or balancers, sdff and bending tumblers, jugglers, conjurors, sword- swallowers, "salamanders" or fire-eaters, swordsmen, etc. (c). The street- performers with trained animsds — as dancing dogs, performing monkeys, truned birds and mice, cats and hares, sapient pigs, dancing bears, and tame camels, (rf) The street-actors — as clowns, "Billy Barlows," "Jim Crows," and otliers. 2. The Street Shoumetif including shows of (a) extraordinary persons — as giants, dwarfs, Albinoes, spotted boys, and pi^-fitced ladies. (b) Extraordinary animals— as albgators, calves, horses and pigs with six legs or two heads, in- dustrious fleas, and happy families, (c) Philo- sophic instruments — as Uie microscope, telescope, thaumascope. (d) Measuring-machines — as weighing, lifting, measuring, and striking ma- chines; and (e) miscellaneous shows — such as peep-shows, glass ships, mechanical figures, wax- work diows, pugilistic shows, and fortune- telling apparatus. 8. The Street- Artistt — as black profile-cutters, blind paper-cutters, "screevers" or draughts- men in coloured chalks on the pavement, writers without hands, and readers ¥rithout eyes. 4. The Street Dancers — as street Scotch girls, sailors, slack and tight rope dancers, dancers on stilts, and comic dancers. 5. The Street Musicians — as the street bands (English and German), players of the guitar, harp, bagpipes, hurdy-gurdy, dulcimer, musical bells, comet, tom-tom, &c. 6. The Street Singers, as the singers of ^flees, ballads, comic songs, nigger melodies, psalms, serenaders, reciters, and improyisatori. 7. The Proprietors rf Street Oames, as swings, highflyers, roundabouts, puif-and-darts, rifle shooting, down the dolly, spm-'em-rounds, prick thegarter, thimble-rig, etc. Then comes the Fifth Division of the Street- Folk, viz., tht Street- Artiz AN s, or Working Pedlars ; These may be severally arranged into three distinct groups— (1) Those who ntake things in the streets ; (2) Those who mend things in the streets ; and (3) Those who make things at home and sell them in the streets, 1. Of those who make things in the streets ihete are the following varieties : (a) the metal workers— such as toasting-fork makers, pin makers, engravers, tobacco -stopper makers. (b) The texdle-worker»-se who mend things in the streets, consist of broken chin^and glass menders, clock menders, umbrella menders, kettle menders,'chair mendeis, grease removers, hat cleaners, razor and knife grinders, glaziers, travelling bell hangers, and knife cleaners. 3. Those who make things ai home and sell them in the streets, are (a) the wood workers— as the makers of clothes-pegs, clothes-props, skewers, needle-cases, foot- stools and clo&es- horses, chairs and tables, tea-caddies, writing-desks, drawers, work-boxes, dressing-cases, pails and tubs. (6) The trunk, hat, and bonnet-box makers, and the cane and rush bask«t makers, (c) The toy makers — such as Chinese roarers, cluldren's windmills, flying birds and fishes, feathered cocks, black velvet cats and sweeps, paper houses, cardboard carriages, little copper pans and kettles, tiny tin fireplaces, children's watches, Dutch dolls, buy-a-brooms, and gutta- percha heads, (d) The apparel makers — viz., the makers of women's caps, boys and men's cloth caps, night-caps, straw bonnets, children's dresses, watch-pockets, bonnet shapes, silk bonnets, and gaiters, (e) The metal workers, — as the makers of fire-guards, bird-cages, the wire workers. (/) The miscellaneous workers — or makers of ornaments for stoves, chimney ornaments, artificial flowers in pots and in nose- gays, plaster -of- Paris night -shades, brooms, brushes, mats, rugs, hearthstones, firewood, rush matting, and hassocks. Of the last division, or Street- Labourers, there are four classes : 1. The Cleansers — such as scavengers, night- men, flushermen, chinmey- sweeps, dustmen, crossing- sweepers, " street- orderlies," labourers to sweeping-machines and to watering-carts. 2. The Lighters and Waierers—ox the turn- cocks and the lamplighters. 3. The Street-Advertisers — viz., the bill- stickers, bill-deliverers, boardmen, men to adver- tising vans, and wall and pavement stencillers. 4. Tlie Street-Servants — as horse holders, link- men, coach-hirers, street-porters, shoe-blacks. Of the Number of Costermongers and OTHER Street-folk. The number of costermongers, — that it is to say, of those street-sellers attending the London "green" and "fish markets," — appears to be, from the best data at my command, now 30,000 men, women, and children. The census of 1841 gives only 2,045 " hawkers, hucksters, and ped- lars," in the metropolis, and no costermongers or street-sellers, or street-performers at alL This number is absurdly small, and its absiuxUty is accoimted for by the &ct that not one in twenty of the costermongers, or of the people with whom they lodged, troubled themselves to fill up the census returns — the majority of them being un- able to read and write, and others distrustful of the purpose for which the returns were wanted. The costermongering class extends itself yearly ; and it is computed that for the last five years it has increased considerably faster than the general metropolitan population. This in- crease is derived partly firom all the children of costermongers following the father's trade, but chiefly from working men, such as the servants of greengrocers or of innkeepers, when out of Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. 5 employ, " taking to a coster's barrow " for a live- lihood ; and the same being done by mechanics and labonrers out of work. At the time of the famine in Ireland, it is calculated, that the number of Irish obtaining a living in the Lon- don streets must have been at least doubled. The great discrepancy between the govern- ment returns and the accounts of the coster- mongers themselves, concerning the number of people obtaining a living by the sale of fish, fruit, and vegetables, in the streets of London, caused me to institute an inquiry at the several metropolitan markets concerning the number of street-sellers attending them : the following is the result: During the summer months and fruit season, the average number of costermongers attending Covent-g^den market is about 2,500 per market- day. In the strawberry season there are nearly double as many, there being, at that time, a large number of Jews who come to buy ; during that period, on a Saturday morning, from the com- mencement to the close of the market, as many as 4,000 costers have been reckoned purchas- ing at Covent-garden. Through the winter season, however, the number of costermongers does not exceed upon the average 1,000 per market morning. About one-tenth of the firuit and vegetables of the least expensive kind sold at this market is purchased by the costers. Some of the better class of costers, who have their regular customers, are very particular as to the quality of the articles they buy; but others are not so particular; so long as they can g^ things cheap, I am informed, they do not care much about the quality. The Irish more especially look out for damaged articles, which they buy at a low price. One of my informants told me that the costers were the best customers to the gprowers, inasmuch as when the market is flagging on account of the weather, they (the costers) wait and make their j^rchases. On other occasions, such as fine mornings, the costers purchase as early as others. There is no trust gfiven to them — to use the words of one of my informants, they are such slippery customers ; here to-day and gone to-morrow. At Leadenhall market, during the winter months, there are from 70 to 100 costermongers general attendants ; but during the summer not much more than one-half that number make their appearance. Their purchases consist of warren - rabbits, poultry, and game, of which about one-eighth of the whole amount brought to this market is bought by them. When the market is slack, and during the summer, when there is '*no great call" for game, etc., the costers attending Leadenhall-market turn their hand to crockery, fruit, and fish. The costermongers frequenting Spitalfields- market average ul the year through from 700 to 1,000 each market-day. They come from all parte, as far as Edmonton, Edeeware, and Tot- tenham ; Highgate, Hampstead, and even from Greenwich and Lewisham. Full one-third of the produce of this market is purchased by them. The number of costermongers attending the Borough-market is about 250 during the fruit season, after which time they decrease to about 200 per market morning. About one-sixth of the produce that comes into this market is purchased by the costermongers. One gentle- man informed me, that the salesmen might shut up their shops were it not for these men. ** In fact," said another, *' I don't know what would become of the fruit without them." The costers at Billingsgate-market, daily, number from 3,000 to 4,000 in winter, and about 2,500 in summer. A leading salesman told me that he would rather have an order from a coster- monger than a fishmonger ; for the one paid ready money, while the other required credit The same gentleman assured me, that the coster- mongers bought excellent fish, and that very largSy. They themselves aver that they pur- chase half the fish brought to Billingsgate — some fish trades being entirely in their hands. I ascertained, however, from Uie authorities at Billingsgate, and from experienced salesmen, that of the quantity of fisn conveyed to that great mart, the costermongers bought one- third ; another third was sent into the country ; and another disposed of to the fishmongers, and to such hotel-keepers, or other large pur- chasers, as resorted to Billingsgate. The salesmen at the several markete all agreed in stating that no trust was given to the costermongers ** Trust them t** exclaimed one, " O, certainly, as far as I can see them." Now, adding the above figures together, we have the subjoined sum for the gross number of COSTERMONQERS ATTENDING THE LONDON MARKETS. Billingsgate-market .... 3,500 Covent-garden 4,000 Spitalflelds 1,000 Borough 250 LeadsnhaU .... .100 9,350 Besides these, I am credibly informed, that it may be assnmed there are mil 1,000 men who are unable to attend market, owing to the dissi- pation of the previous night; ano&er 1,000 are absent owinp^ to their having " stock on hand," and so requiring no fresh purchases ; and fur- ther, it may be estimated that there are at least 2,OOnO boys in London at work for costers, at half profits, and who consequently have no occa- non to visit the markets. Hence, putting these numbers together, we arrive at the conclusion that there are in London upwards of 13,000 street-sellers, dealing in fish, fruit, vegetables, game, and poultry alone. To be on the safe side, however, let us assume the number of Lon- don costermengers to be 12,000, and that one- half of these are married and have two children (which from all acoounte appears to be about the proportion); and then we have 30,000 for the Digitized by Google 6 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOJt stun total of men, women, and children dependent on " costerniongeriug " for their subsistence. Large as this number maj seem, still I am satisfied it is rather within than beyond the truth. In ordet to convince myuelf of its accu- racy, I caused it to be checked in several ways. In the first place, a survey was Inade as to the number of stalls in the streets of London — forty- six miles of the principal thoroughfares were travelled over, and an account taken of the " standings." Thus it was fotmd that there Were upon an average upwards of fourteen stalls to the mile, of which five-sixths were fish and &uit- Btalls. Now, according to the Metropolitan Police Returns, there are 2,000 miles of street throughout London, and calculating that the stallft through the whole of the metropolis run upon an average only four to the mile, vre shall thus find that there are 8,000 stalls altogether in London ; of these we may reckon that at least 6,000 are fish and fruit-stalls. I am inlbrmed, on the best authority, that twice as many costers ** go rounds" as have standings ; hence we come to the conclusion that there are 18,000 idiierant and stationary strfeet-sellers of fish, vegetables, and fruit, in the metropolis ; and reckoning the same proportion of wives and children as before, we have thus 45,000 men, women, and children, obtaining a living in this manner. Further, '* to make assurance doubly sul^," the sti'eet- markets tliroughout London were severally visited, and the number of stieet-sellers at each taken down on the spot These gave a gfrand total of 8,801, of which number two-thirds were dealers in fish, ftiiit, and vegetables ; and reckon- ing that twice as many costers again were on their romids, we thus make the total number of London costermongers to be 11,403, or calcu- lating men, women, and children, 34,209. It would appear, therefore, that if we estimate the gross number of individuals subsisting on the sale of fish, fruit, and vegetables, in tlie streets of London, at between th&ty and forty thoUs.ind, we shall not be very wide of the truth. But, great as is this number, still the coster- mongers are only a portion of the street-folk. Besides tliese, there are, as we have seen, many other large classes obtaining their livelihood in tlie streets. The street musicians, for instance, are said to number 1,000, and the old clothes- men the same. There are supposed to bo at the least 500 sellers of water-cresses ; 200 cof- fee-stalls; 300 cats-meat men; 250 ballad- singers; 200 play-bill sellers; from 800 to 1,000 bone-grubbers and mud-larks; 1,000 crosdng-tweepeni i another thousand chimney- sweeps, and the same number of turncocks and lamp-lighters ; all of whom, together with the fetreet-perfbrmers and showmen, tinkers, chair, umbrella, And clock-menders, sellers of bonhet- boxes, toys, stationery, dongs, last dving- speeches, tubs, pails, mats, crockery, blac^ng, lucifets, com- salves, clothes-pegs, brooms, sweetmeats, razors, dog-collars, dogs, birds, coals, sand, — scavengers, dustmen, and others, make up, it may be fkirly asttmied, fUll thitty thousand adults, so that, reckoning men, women, and children, we may truly say that there are upwatds of fifty thousand indi- viduals, or about a fortieth-part of the entire population of the metropolis getting their living m the streets. Now of all modes of obtaining subsistence, that of street- selling is the most precarious. Continued wet weather deprives ttiose who depeild for their bread upon the number of people fi^uenting the publie thoroughfares of all means of living ; and it is painful to think of the hundreds belonging to this class in the the metropolis who are reduced to starvation by three or four days successive rain. Moreover, in tlie Winter, the street-sellers of fruit and vegetables are cut off from the ordinary means of gaining their livelihood, and, consequently, they have to sufifer the greatest privations at a time when the severity of the season demands the greatest amount of physical comforts. To expect tliat the increased eatnings of the sum- mer should be put aside as a provision against the deficiencies of the winter, is to expect that a precarious occupation should beget provident habits, which is agaitist the nature of things, for it is always in those callings which are the most uncertain, that the greatest amount of im- proWdence and intemperance are found to exist. It is not the well-fed man, be it observed, but the starving one that is in danger of surfeiting himself. Moreover, when the religious, moral, -and intellectual degradation of the great majority of these fifty thousand people is impressed upon us, it becomes positively appalling to con- template the vast amount of vice, ignorance and want, existing in these days in the very heart of our land* The public have but to read the following plain unvarnished account of the habits, amusements, dealings, education, politics, and religion of the London coster- mongers in the nineteenth century, and then to say whether they think it safe — even if it be thought fit — to allow men, women, and chil- dren to continue in such a state. Of the Varieties op Street-folk in general, and costermonqers in par- TICUL'AR. Amonq the street-folk there are many dis- tmct characters of people— people differing as widely from each in tastes, habits, thoughts and creed, as one nation from another. Of these the costermongers form by far the largest and certainly tlie mostly broadly marked class. They appear to be a distinct race — perhaps, originally, of Irish extraction — seldom asso- ciating with any other of the street-folks, and being all known to each other* The " pat- terers," or the men who cry the last dyinff- speeches, &c. in the street, and those who help oft* their wares by long harrangues in the public thoroughfares, are again a separate class. These, to use thefr own term, are ** the aristocracy of the street-sellers," despising the costers for Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOJL their igiiorwice, and boasting that they live by their mtellect. The public, they say, do not expect to receive fropa them an equivalent for their money — they pay to hear them talk. Compared with the costermonffers, the patterers are generally an educated class, and among them are some classical scholars, one clergyman, and many sons of gentlemen. They appear to be the counterparts of the old mountebanks or street- doctors. As a body they seem far less improvable than the costers, being more " knowing" and less impulsive. The street-performers difier again from those ; these appear to possess many of the oharaoteristics of the lower class of aotors|, vis., a strong desire to excite admiration, an indisposition to pursue any settled occupation, a love of the tap-room, though more for the society and display than for the dxink connected with it, a great fond- ness for finery and predilection fbr the perform- ance of dexterous or dangerous feats. Then there are the street mechanics, or artizans — quiet, melancholy, struggling men, who, unable to find any regular employnient at their own trade, have made up a few things, and taken to hawk them in the streets, as the last shif^ of independence, Another distinct class of street- folk are Uie blind people (mostly musicians in a rude way), who, after the loss of their eyesight, have sought to keep themselves from the work- house by some little excuse for alms-seeking. These, so far as my experience goes, appear to be a far more deserving class than is usually supposed — their afiliotion, in most cases, seems to have chastened them and to have given a peonliar religious cast to their tlxoughta. Such are the several varietief of street-folk, intellectually considered— looked at in a national point of view, they likewise include many dis- tinct people. Among them are to be found the Irish fruit- sellers ; the Jew clothesmen ; the Italian organ boys, French singing women, the German brass bands, the Dutch buy-a- broom girls, the Highland bagpipe players, and the Indian crossing- sweepers — all of whom I here shall treat of in due order. The costermongering class or order has also its many varieties. These appear to be in the following proportions : — One-half of the entire class are costermongers proper, that is to say, the calling with them is heredit^iry, and perhaps has been so for many generations; while the other half is composed of three-eighths Irish, and one-eighth mechanics, tradesmen, and Jews. Under the term "costermonger" is here in- cluded only such " street-sellers" as deal in fish, fruit, and vegetables, purchasing their goods at the wholesale '* green' ' and fish nuurkets. Of these some carry on their business at the same sta- tionary «taU or *' standing " in the street, while others go on " rounds." The itinerant coster- mongers, as contradistinguished from the sta- tionary street- fishmongers and greengrocers, have in nxany instances regular rounds, which thejr go cUily, and which extend from two to ten miles. The longest are those which embrace a suburban pitrti the shortest Are through streets thickly peo- pled by the poor, where duly to "work" a single street consumes, in some instances, an hour. T^ere are also " chance" rounds. Men " work- ing" these carry their wares to any part in which they hope to find customers. The costermongers, moreover, diversify their labours bv occasionally going on a country round, travelling on these excursions, in all directions, from thirty to ninety and even a hundred aules fi-om the naetropolis. Some, again, confine their callings chiefly to the neighbouring races and fairs. Of all the characteristics attending these di- versities of traders, I shall treat severally. I may here premise, that the regular or " thorough- bred costermongers," repudiate the numerous persons who sell only nuts or oranges in the streets, whether at a fixed stall, or any given locality, or who hawk them throngh the thoroughfares or {larks. They repudiate also a number of Jews, who confine their street- traduig to the sale of " coker-nuts" on Sundays, vended from large barrows. Nor do they rank with themselves the individuals who sell tea and cofiee in the streets, or such condiments as peas-soup, sweetmeats, spice-cakes, and the like I those articles not being purchased at (he nuurkets. I often heard all such, classes called " the illegitinuites." Of CoSTERUONQEaiNO Mi;cKANics. " From the numbers of mechanic^," said one smturt costermonger to me, " that I know of in my own district, I should say there's now more than 1,000 costers in London that were once mechanics or labourers. They are driven to it as a last resource, when they can't get work at their trade. They donU do well, at least four out of five, or three out of four don't. They're not up to the dodges of tlie business. They go to market with fear, and don't know how to venture a bargain if one offers. They're inferior salesmen too, and if they have fish left that won't keep, it's a dead loss to them, for they aren't up to the trick of selling it cheap at a distance where the coster ain't known ; or of quitting it to another, for candle-light sale, cheap, to the Irish or to the * lushingtons,' that haven't a proper taste for fish. Some of these poor fellows lose every penny, They're mostly middle- aged when they begin costering. They' U generally commence with oranges or herrings. We pity them. We say, * Poor fellows ! they'll find it out by-and-bye.* It's awful to see some poor women, too, trying to pick up a living in the streets by selling nuts or oranges. It's awful to see them, for they can't set about it right ; besides that, tli ore's too many before they start. They don't find a living, U's wareman from the wareAotweman, by the arts they respectively employ to attract custom. The street-seller cries his goods aloud at the head of his barrow; the enterprising ' tradesman distributes bills at the door of his shop. The one appeals to the ear, the other to the eye. The cutting costermonger has a drum and two boys to excite attention to his stock ; the spirited shopkeeper has a column of adver- tisements in the morning newspapers. They are but difierent means of attaining tne same end. The London Street Markets on a Saturday Night. The street sellers are to be seen in the greatest numbers at the London street markets on a Saturday ni^ht Here, and in the shops imme- diately acyoining, the working-classes generally purchase their Sunday's dinner { and after pay-time on Saturday night, or early on Sunday morning, the crowd in the New-cut, and the Brill in particular, is almost impass- able. Indeed, the scene in these parts has more of the character of a fair than a market There are hundreds of stalls, and every stall has its one or two lights; either it is illuminated by the intense white light of the new self-generating gas-lamp, or else it is brightened,up by the red smoky flame of the old- fa&oned grease lamp. One man shows oflT his yellow haddock with a candle stuck in a bundle of firewood ; his neighbour makes a candlestick of a huge turnip, and the tallow gutters over its sides ; whilst the boy shouting " Eight a penny, stunning pears ! ** has rolled his dip in a thick coat of brown paper, that fiares away with the candle. Some stalls are crimson with the fire shining through the holes beneath the baked chestnut stove; others have handsome octo- hedral lamps, while a few have a candle shining through a sieve: these, with the sparkling ground-glass globes of the tea-dealers' riiops, and the butchers' gaslights streaming and flut- tering in the wind, like flags of flame, pour forth such a flood of light, that at a distance the at- mosphere immediately above the spot is as lurid as if the street were on fire. The pavement and the road are crowded with purchasers and street-sellers. The housewife m her thick shawl, with the market-basket on her arm, walks slowly on, stopping now to look at the stall of caps, and now to cheapen a bunch. of gpreens. Little boys, holding three or four onions in their hand, creep between the people, wri^ling their way through every interstice, and askmg for custom in whining tones, as if seeking charity. Then the tumult of the thousand dif- ferent cries of the eager dealers, all shouting at the top of their voices, at one and the same time, 18 almost bewildering. " So-old again," roars one. " Chestnuts all 'ot, a penny a score," bawls another. " An 'aypenny a skin, blacking," squeaks a boy. " Buy, buyi buy, buy, buy — bu-u-uy !" cries the butcher. " Half-quire of paper for a penny," bellows the street stationer. ** An 'aypenny a lot ing-uns." " Twopence a pound grapes." "Three a penny Yarmouth bloaters," "Who'll buy a bonnet for four- pence ? " " Pick 'em out cheap here ! three pair for a halfoenny, bootlaces." " Now's your time ! beautiful whelks, a penny adot" " Here's ha'p'orthsj" shouts the perambulating confec- tioner. "Come and look at 'em! here's toasters!" bellows one with a Yarmouth bloater stuck on a toasting-fork. " Penny a lot, fine russets," calls the apple woman : and so the Babel goes on. One man stands with his red-edged mats hanging over his back and chest, like a herald's coat; and the girl with her basket of walnuts lifts her brown-stained fingers to her mouth, as she screams, "Fine wamuts! sixteen a penny, fine war-r-nuts." A bootmaker, to "ensure custom,'^ has illuminated his shop-firont with a line of eas, and in its frill glare stands a blind beffgar, ms eyes turned up so as to show only "the whites," and mumbling some beggllig rhymes, that are drowned in the shrill notes of the bamboo-flute-player next to him- The boy's sharp cry, the woman's cracked voice, the gruff, hoarse shout of the man, are all mingled together. Sometimes an Irish- Digitized by Google 10 LONDON LABOUR AND THM LONDON BOOR, man if heard with his " fine ating apples ;" or else the jingling music of an unseen organ breaks out, as the trio of street singers rest between the verses. Then the sights, as you elbow your way through the crowd, are equally multifarious. Here is a stall glittering with new tin sauce- pans ; there another, bnght with its blue and yaliow crockery, and sparkling with white glass. Now you come to a row of old shoes arranged along the pavement; now to a stand of gaudy tea-trays; then to a shop with red handkerchiefs and blue checked shirts, flutter- ing backwards and forwards, and a counter bmlt up outside on the kerb, behind which are boys beseeching custom. At the door of a tea-shop, with its hundred white globes of light, stands a man delivering bills, thanking the public for past favours, and '* defying com- Eetition." Here, alongside the road, are some alf-dozen headless tauors' dummies, dressed in Chesterfields and fustian jackets, each labelled, " Look at the prices," or " Observe the quality." After this is a Dutcher's shop, crimson and white with meat piled up to the first-floor, in front 4)f which the butcher himself^ in his blue coat, walks up and down, sharpening his knifls on the steel that hangs to his waist. A little further on stands tlie clean family, begging ; the &ther with his head down as if in shame, and t^ box of luoifisrs held forth in his band — the boys in newly-washed pinafores, and the tidily got-up mother with a child at her breast This stall is green and white with bunches of tumips-^that red with apples, the next yellow with onions, and another piurple with pickling eabbagea. One minute you pass a man with an umbrella turned inside up and full of prints; the next, you hear one wHh a peepshow of Ma- aeppa, and Paul Jones the pirate, describing the pictures to the boys looking in at the little round windows. Then is heard the sharp snap of the percussion-cap fVom the erowd of lads firing at the target for nuts{ and the moment aftenMurds, you see either a blaok man half- clad in white, and shivering in Ike cold with tracts in his hand, or else you hear the sounds of mnsio from ** Frasier's Circus," on the other side of the road, and the man outside the door of the penny concert, beseeching you to ** Be in time — be in time !" as Mr. Sr«ad .... St Camberwell 15 Newington 48 Kent-street, Borougli 88 Gnat Soffolkttieet Blackfrian-rosd MARKi;!! ON THI MIDDLESEX SIDE. Iieather-lane Br{llsadC1iapel-st.,\ »^ Somers'Town , .| *^ Camden Town .... 80 HsmptteadHTd. and) «., ToCtMihaiii.et.-f4. » ^^ St.GM>rge'taCarket,\ ,,. Oxford-«treet . . / "' Marylehone 87 Edgoware-road .... 78 Crawford-ttieei .... 148 Knishtobridge .... 46 PimBco 82 TothSllit. » Broad-\ ,,o way, Westminster/ "* Drury-laae 82 Clare-street ...... 189 Exmoutb-itrtet and\ Aylttbury-strsei,}- 142 ClerkenweU . . .j We &id, from die foregoing list of markets, held in the various thoroughfiures of the metro- pohs, that there are 10 on the Surrey side and 27 on the Middlesex side of the Thames. The total number d hucksters atten^ng these . . 180 8t. John's-street ... 47 Old-ttteet (8t. Luke'i) 48 Whiteeross > street, \ , .^ Cripplegale / "'' Iilington , . 79 aty-road 48 Shoredlteb 100 Bethnal-grsen .... 180 Whitochapel 288 MUe Snd 108 Commereis^rd. (last) 114 Lfaaefaouffe 88 BalcUfls Highway . . 122 Rotemary-laae .... 119 8187 markets is 8801| giving an average of 102 tQ each market Habits and Amusements of costermqi^oers, I And it impossible to separate tiiese two bftd- ings ; for the habiti of the costermonger are not domestio. His busy life is past in the markets or the streets, and as his leisure is devoted to the beer-shop, th« dancinp^-room, or the theatre, we niust look for his habiU to his demeanour at those places. Home has few attractions to a man whose life is a street-life. Even those who are influenced by family ties and aflections, prefer to "home"— indeed that word is rarely mentioned among them -*- the conversation, warmth, and merriment of the beer-ihc^), where they can take their ease among their "mates," Excitement or amusement are indispensable to uneducated men. Of beer-shops resorted to by costermtngers, and principally supported by them, it ia computed that there are 400 in London. Those who meet first in the beer-shop talk over the state of trade and of the markets, while the later comers enter at once into what may be styled the serious business of the evening — amusement Business topics are discussed in a most peculiar style. One man takes the pipe from his mouth and says, " Bill made a doogheno hit this morning." " Jem," says another, to a man just entering, " you'll stand a top o* reeb?" "On," answers Jem, " I've had a trosseno tol, and have been doing dab." For an explanation of wh^t may be obscure in this dialogue, I must refer my readers to my remarks concerning the language of the class. If any strangers are present, the conversation is still further clothed in ilang, so as to be imintelligible even to the . partially initiated. The evident puzzlement of any listener is of course gratifying to the costermonger's vanity, for he feels that he possesses a know- ledffe peculiarly his own. Among the in-door amusements of the coster- monger is eard-playing, at whieh nuny of them are adepts. The usual games are all-fours, aJl- flves, cribbage, and put Whist is known to a few, but is never played, being considered dull and slow. Of short whist they have not heard ; "but," said one, whom I questioned on the subject, " if it's come into fad^on, it'll soon bo among us." The play is usually for beer, but the game is rendered exciting by bets both among the players and the lookers-on. "I'll back Jem tor a yanepatine," says one. "Jack for a gen," cries another. A penny is the lowest sum laid^ and five shillings generally the highest, but a shilling is not often exceeded^ " We play £u'r among ourselves," said a costermonger to me — " aye, fairer than the aristocrats— but we'll take in anybody else." Where it is known that the landlord will not supply cards, " a sporting coster" carries a pack or two with him. The cards played with have rarely been stamped ; Digitized by Google 12 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, they are generally dirty, and sometimes almost illegible, from long handling and spilled beer. Some men will sit patiently fbr hours at these games, and they watch the dealing round of the dingy cards intently, and without the attempt — conunon among politer gamesters— to appear indifferent, though thev bear their losses weU. In a full room of card-players, the mups are all shrouded in tobacco-smoke, and from them are heard constant sounds— according to the games thev are engaged in — of " I'm low, and Ped's high." " Tip and me's game." ** Fifteen four and a flush of five." I may remark it is curious that costermonffers, who can neither read nor write, and who have no knowledge of the multi- plication table, are skilful in all the intricacies and calculations of cribbage. There is not much quarrelling over the cards, unless strangers play with them, and then the costermongers all take part one with another, fairly or unndrly. It has been said that there is a dose resem- blance between many of the characteristics of a very high class, socially, and a very low class. Those who remember the disclosures on a trial a few years back, as to how men of rank and wealth passed their leisure in card- playing— many of their lives being one continued leisure — can judge how far the analogy holds when the card- passion of the costermongers is described. "Shove- halfpenny" is another game played by them ; so is " Thiree lip." Three halfpemiies are thrown up, and when they fall all " heads" or all "tails," it is a mark; an^ the man who gets the greatest number of marks out of a given amount — three, or five, or more— wins. "Three-up" is played fiiirly among the coster- mongers; but IS most frequently resorted to when strangers are present to " make a pitch," — which is, in plain words, to cheat any stranger who is rash enough to bet upon them. " This is the way, sir," said an adept to me ; " bless you, I can make them fall as I please. If I'm playing with Jo, and a stranger bets with Jo, why, of course, I make Jo win." This adept illustrated his skill to me by throwing up three halfpennies, and, five times out of six, Viey fell upon the floor, whether he threw them nearly to the ceiling or merely to his shoulder, all heads or all tails. The halfoence were the proper current coins — indeed, tney were my own; and the result is gained by a peculiar position of the coins on the fingers, and a peculiar jerk in the throwing. There was an amusing manifestation of the pride of art in the way in which my obliging mformant displayed his skill. "Skittles" is another favourite amusement, and the costermongers class themselves among the best players in London. The game is always for beer, but betting goes on. A fondness for "sparring" and "boxing" lingers among the rude members of some classes of the working men, such as the tanners. With the great majority of the costermongers this fondness is still as dominant as it was among the " higher classes," when boxers were the peta of princes and nobles. The sparring among the costers is not for money, but for beer and " a lark" — a convenient word covering much mis- chiet Two out of every ten landlords, whose houses are patronised by these lovers of "the art of self-defence," supply gloves. Some charge 2d, a night for their use ; others only Id. The sparring seldom continues long, sometimes not above a quarter of an hour ; for the costermongers, though excited for a while, weary of sporta in which they cannot personally participate, and in the beer-shops only two spar at a time, though fifty or sixty may be present The shortness of the duration of this pastime may be one reason why it seldom leads to quarrelling. The stake is usually a " top of reeb," and the winner is the man who g^ves the first " noser;" a hhody nose however is required to show that the blow was veritably a noser. The costermongers boast of their skill in pugilism as well as at skittles. " We are all handy with our fists," said one man, " and are matches, ave, and more than matches, for anybody but reg'lar boxers. We've stuck to the ring, too, and gone reg'lar to the fighta, more than any other men." "Twopenny- hops" are much resorted to by the costermongers, men and women, boys and girls. At these dances decorum is sometimes, but not often, violated. " The women," I was told by one man, " doesn't show their necks as I've seen the ladies do in them there pictures of high life in the shop- winders, or on the stage. Their Sunday gowns, which is their dancing gowns, ain't made that way." At these " hops " the clog-hornpipe is often danced, and some- times a collection is made to ensure the per- formance of a first-rate professor of that dance ; sometimes, and more frequently, it is volunteered gratuitously. The other dances are jigs, " flash jigs" — hornpipes in fetters — a dance rendered popular by the success of the acted " Jack Shep- pard" — polkas, and country- dances, the last- mentioned being generally demanded by the women. Waltzes are as yet unknown to them. Sometimes they do the "pipe-dance." For this a number of tobacco-pipes, about a dozen, are laid close U^ether on the floor, and the dancer places the toe of his boot between the diflferent pipes, keeping time with the music Two of the pipes are arranged as a cross, and the toe has to be inserted between each of the angles, withont breaking them. The numbers present at these " hops" vary from 30 to 100 of both sexes, their ages being from 14 to 45, and the female sex being slightly predominant as to the proportion of those in attendance. At these "hops" there is nothing of the leisurely style of dancing — half a glide and half a skip — but vigorous, laborious I capering. The hours are from half-past eight to twelve, sometimes to one or two in the morning, and never later than two, as the costermongers are early risers. There is sometimes a good deal of drinlong ; some of the young g^rls being often pressed to drink, and fi^quently yielding to the temptation. From 1/. to 7/. is spent in drink at a hop ; the youngest men or lads present spend the most, especially in tliat act of costermonger Digitized by Google THE LONDON COSTEEMONGER. ' Here Pertaters ! Kearots and Turnips I Fine Brockelo-o-o ! " [From a Daguerreotype by Bxa&d.] Digitized by Google Digitized by Google LONDON LAUOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. 15 politeness—" treating the gals." The muac is always a fiddle, sometimes with tlie addition of a harp and a cornopean. The hand is provided by the costennongers, to whom the assembly is confiued ; but during the present and the last year, when the costers* earnings have been less than the average, the landlord has provided the harp, whenever that instrmment has added to the charms of the fiddle. Of one use to whieh these '* hops" are pm I have given an account, under the head of " Marriage." The other amusements of this class of the commimity are the theatre and the penny con- cert, and their visits are almost entirely confined to the galleries of the theatres on the Surrey-side — the Surrey, the Victoria, the Bower Saloon, and (but less frequently) Astley's. Three times a week is an average attendance at theatres and dances by the more prosperoua oostermongers. The most intelligent man I met with among them gave me the following account He classes himself with the many, but his tastes are really those of an educated man : — " Love and murder suits us best, sir ; but within these few years I think there's a great deal more liking for deep tragedies among ua. They set men a thinking ; but then we all consider them too long. Of Ham- lei we can make neither end nor side ; and nine out of ten of us— ay, far more than that— would like it to be confined to the ghost scenes, and the funeral, and the killing ofif at the last Macbeth would be better liked, if it wa» only the witches and the fighting. The high words in a tragedy we call jaw-breakers, and say we can't tmnble to that barrikiu. We always stay to the last, because we've paid for it all, or v«ry few costers would see a tragedy out if any raonev was re- turned to those leaving aflw two or three acts. We are fond of music. Nigger musio was very much liked among us, but it's stale now. Flash songs are liked, and saUora' songs, and patriotic songs. Most costers — indeed, I can't call to mind an exception— listen very quietly to songs that they don't in the least understuid. We have among us translations of the patiiotio French songs. * Mourfar pour la patrie' is very popular, * and so is the * Marseillaise.' A song to take hold of ns must have a good chorus." ** They like something, sir, that is worth hearing,'* said one of iny infonnants, *' such as the * Solmer's Dream,' * The Dream of Napoleon,* or ' I 'ad a dream— an 'appy dream.' " The songs in ridicule of Marshal Haynau, and in laudation of Barclay and Perkin's draymen, were and are very popular among the oost|p ; but none are more popular than Paul Jones — " A noble commander, Paul Jones was his name.' ' Among theati the chorus of ** Britons never shall be slaves," is often rendered " Britons always shall be slaves." The moet popular of all songs with the class, however, is " Duck-legged Dick," of which I give the first verse. «• Duck-lagged Dick had a donkey, And hU lush levtd much for to iwiU, One day be got rather lumpy, And got sent seven days to tbe mill. His donkey vitu* taken to the green-yard, A fate which he never deserved. Oh ! it was such a regular mean yard, That alas ! the poor moke got starved. Oh 1 bad luck can't be prevented, Fortune she-vmiles or she frowns, He's best off that's contented. To mix, sirs, the ups and the downs." Their sports, are eiyoycd the more, if they are dangerous and require both courage and dexterity to succeed in them. They prefer, if crossing a bridge, to climb over the parapet, and walk along on the stone coping. When a house is building, rows of coster lads will climb up the long ladders, leaning against the unslated roof, and then slide down again, each one rest- ing on the other's shoulders. A peep show with a battle scene is sure of its coster audience, and a favourite pastime is fighting with cheap theatrical swords. They are, however, true to each other, and should a coster, who is the hero of his co'-xt, fall ill and go to a hospital, the whole of tne inhabitants of his ouarter will visit him on the Sunday, and take him presents of various articles so Uiat ** he may live well." Among the men, rat-killing is a favourite sport They will enter an old stable, fasten the door and then turn out the rats. Or they will find out some unfrequented yard, and at night time build up a pit with apple-case boards, and lighting up their lamps, eiyoy the sport Nearly every coster is fond of dogs. Some fancy them greatly, and arc proud of making them fight If when out working, they see a handsome stray, whether he is a "toy" or "sporting" dog, they whip him up — many of the class not being very particular whether the animals are stray or not Their dog fights are both cruel and frequent It is not uncommon to see a lad walking with the trembling legs of a dog shivering imder a bloody handkerchief, that covers the bitten and wounded body of an anhnal that has been figur- ing at some "match." These fights take place on the sly — the tap-room or back-yard of a beer- shop, being generally chosen for the purpose. A few men are let into the secret, and they attend to bet upon the winner, the police being care- fully kept from the spot Pigeons are "fancied" to a large extent, and are kept in lath cages on the roofs of the houses. The lads look upon a visit to the Red- house, Battersea, where the pigeon-shooting takes place, as a great treat Toey stand with- out the hoarding that encloses the ground, and watch for the wounded pigeons to fall, when a violent scramble takes place among them, each bird being valued at 3d. or M. So popular has this sport become, that some boys take dogs with them trained to retrieve the birds, and two Lambeth costers attend regularly after their morning's work with their ^uns, to shoot those that escape the ' shots' within. A goodpugilist is looked up to with great admi- ration by the costers, and fighting is considered to be a necessary part of a boy's education. Among them cowardice in any shape is despised Digitized by Google 16 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, as being degrading and loathsome, indeed the man who would avoid a fight, is scouted by the whole of the court he lives in. Hence it is important for a lad and even a girl to know how to "work their fists well*'— as expert boxing is called among them. If a coster man or woman is struck they are obliged to fight When a quarrel takes place between two boys, a ring is formed, and the men urge them on to have it out, for they hold that it is a wrong thing to stop a batUe, as it causes bad blood for Ufe ; whereas, if the lads fight it out they shake hands and forget all about it. Every- body practises fighting, and the man who has tlie largest and hardest muscle is spoken of in terms of the highest commendation. It is often said in admiration of such a man that " he could muzzle half a dozen bobbies before breakfast." To serve out a policeman is the bravest act by which a costermonger can distinguish him- selfl Some lads have been imprisoned upwards of a dozen times for this ofience ; and are con- sequently looked upon by their companions as martyrs. When they leave prison for such an act, a subscription is often got up for their benefit In their continual warfare with the force, they resemble many savage nations, firom the cunning and treachery they use. The lads endeavour to take the unsuspecting " crusher " by surprise, and often croucn at tlie entrance of a court until a policeman passes, when a stone or a brick is hurled at him, and the youngster inmie- diately disappears. Their love of revenge too, is extreme — their hatred being in no way mitigated by time ; they will wait for months, following a policeman who has ofieuded or wronged them, anxiously looking out for an opportunity of paying back the injury. One boy, I was told, vowed vengeance against a member of the force, and for six months never allowed the man to escape his notice. At length, one night, he saw the policeman in a row outside a public-house, and running into the crowd kicked him savagely, shouting at the same tune : " Now, you b , I've got you at last" When the boy heard that ms per- secutor was i]\jured for life, his joy was very great, and he declared the twelvemonth's impri- sonment he was sentenced to for the ofioice to be " dirt cheap." The whole of the court where the lad resided sympathized with the boy, and vowed to a man, that had he escaped, they would have subscribed a pad or two of dry her- rings, to send him into the country until the aflSur had blown over, for he had shown himself a "plucky one." It is called "plucky" to bear pain with- out complaining. To flinch from expected sufTering is scorned, and he who does so is sneered at and told to wear a gown, as being more fit to be a woman. To show a disregard for pain, a lad, when without money, will say to his pal, " Give us a penny, and jqm may have a punch at my nose." lliey also delight in tattooing their chests and arms with anchors, and figures of diflferent kinds. During the whole of this painful operation, the boy will not flinch, but laugh and joke with his admiring companions, as if perfectly at eaae. Gambling of Costermongers. It would be difficult to find in the whole of this numerous class, a youngster who is not — ^what may be safely callea — a desperate gambler. At the age of fourteen this \me of pla^ first comes upon the lad, and from that time imtil he is thirty or so, not a Sunday passes but he is at his stand on the gambling ground. Even if he has no money to stake, he will loll away the morn- ing looking on, and so borrow excitement from the successes of others. Every attempt made by the police, to check this ruinous system, has been imavailing, and has rather given a gloss of daring courage to the sjiort, that tends to render it doubly attractive. If a costermonger has an hour to spare, his first thought is to gamble away the time. He does not care what he plays for, so long as he can have a chance of winning something. WhUst waiting for a market to open, his delight is to find out some pieman and toss him for nis stock, tliough, by so doing, he risks his market- money and only chance of living, to win that which he will give away to the first friend he meets. For the whole week the boy will work untiringly, spurred on by the thought of the money to be won on the Sunday. Nothing will damp his ardour for gambling, the most continued ill-fortune making him even more reckless than if he were the luckiest man alive. Many a lad who had gone down to the gam- bling ground, with a good Vrarm coat upon his back and his pocket well filled from the Satur- day night's market, will leave it at evening penniless and coatless, having lost all his eam- mgs, stock-money, and the better part of his clothing. Some of the boys, when desperate with " bad luck," borrow to the utmost limit of their credit ; then they mortgage their " kmg's- man " or neck- tie, and they will even change their cord trousers, if better than those of the winner, so as to have one more chance at the turn of fortune. The coldest winter's day will not stop the Sunday's gathering on the river- side, for tile heat of play warms them in spite of the sharp wind blowing down the Thames. If the weather be wet, so that the half-pence stick to the ground, they find out some railway- arch or else a beer-shop, and having filled the t«|b>room with their numbers, thev muffle the tame with handkerchiefs, and play secretly. When the game is very exciting, they will even forget their hunger, and continue to gamble until it is too dark to see, before they think of eatin|r. One man told me, that when he was working the races with lemonade, he had often seen in the centre of a group, composed of cos- ters, thimble-riggers and showmen, as much as 100/. on the ground at one time, in gold and silver. A friend of his, who had gone down in company with himi with a pony-truck of toys. Digitized by Google LONDON LABOlfk AND THE LONDON POOR. 17 lost in less than an hour his earnings, truck, stock of goods, and great-coat Vowing to have hin revenge next time, he took his boy on his bacK, and started off on the trainp to London, there to borrow sufficient money to bring down a fresh lot of goods on the morrow, and then gamble away his earnings as before. It is perfectly immaterial to the coster with whom he plays, whether it be a lad frt>m the Lambeth potteries, or a thief from the West- minster slums. Very often, too, the gamblers of one costermonger district, will visit those of another, and work what is called ** a. plant " in this way. One of the visitors will go before hand, and, joining a group of pramblers, com- mence tossing. When sufficient time has elapsed to remove all suspicion of companion- ship, his mate will come up and commence bet- ting on each of his pals' tlurows with those stand- ing round. By a curious quickness of hand, a coster can make the toss tell favourably for his wagering friend, who meets him after the play is over in the evening, and shares the spoQ. The spots generally chosen for the Sunday's sport are in secret places, half-hidden from the eye of the passers, where a scout can give quick notice of the approach of the police: in the fields about King's-cross, or near any unfinished railway buildings. The Mint, St George's- fields, Blackfriars'-road, Bethnal-green, and Maryle- bone, are aU favourite resorts. Between Lam- beth and Chelsea, the shingle on the left side of the Thames, is spotted with small rings of lads, half-hidden behind the barges. One boy (of the party) is always on the look out, and even if a stranger should advance, the cry is given of " Namous " or " Kool Eslop." Instantly the money is whipped-up and pocketed, and the boys stand chattering and laughing together. It is never difficult for a coster to find out where the gambling parties are, for he has only to stop the first lad he meets, and ask him where the " erht pu " or " three up " is going on, to discover their whereabouts. If during the game a cry of " Police ! " should be g^ven by the looker-out, instantly a rush at the money is made by any one in the group, the costers preferring that a stranger should have the mmiey rather than the policeman. There is alsd a custom among them, that the ruined player should be started again by a gift df 2d. m every shilling lost, or, if the loss is heavy, a present of four or five shillings is made ; neither IS it considered at all dishonourable for the party winning to leave with the full bloom of success upon hxm. That the description of one of these Sunday scenes misht be more truthful, a visit was paid to a gambling-ring close to , Although not twenty yards distant from the steam-boat pier, yet the little party was so concealed among the the coal-barges, that not a head could be seen. The spot chosen was close to a small narrow court, leading from the street to the water-side, and here the lad on the look-out was stationed. There were about thirty young fellows, sonvs tall strapping youths, in the costers' cable- cord costume, — others, mere boys, in rags, from the potteries, with their clothes stained with clay. The party was hidden from the river by the black dredger-boats on the beach; and it was so arranged, that should the alarm be given, they might leap into the coal-barges, and hide untU the intruder had retired. Seated on some oars stretched across two craft, was a mortar- stained bricklayer, keeping a look-out towards the river, and acting as a sort of umpire in all disputes. The two that were tosang had been playing together since early morning ; and it was easy to tell which was the loser, by the anxious- look- ing eye and compressed lip. He was quarrel- some too ; and if the crowd pressecUu>on him, he would jerk his elbow back savagflj, sajring, " I wish to C 1 you'd stand backer." The winner, a short man, in a mud-stained canvas jacket, and a week's yellow beard on his chin, never spake a word beyond his "heads," or ** tails ;" but his cheeks were red, and the pipe in his mouth was unlit, though he pufifed at it. In their hands they each held a long row of halfpence, extending to the wrist, and topped by shillings and half-crowns. Nearly every one round had coppers in his hands, and bets were made and taken as rapidly as the^ could be spoken. " I lost a sov. last night m less than no time," said one man, who, with his hands in his pockets, was looking on ; " uever mind — I musn't have no wenson this week, and try again next Sunday." The boy who was losing was adopting every means to ** bring back his luck again." Before crying, he womd toss up a halfpenny three times, to see what he should call. At last, with an oath, [he pushed aside the boys round, him, and shifted his place, to see what that would do ; it had a good efiect, for he won toss after toss in a curiously fortunate way, and then it was strange to watch his mouth gradually relax and his brows unknit His opponent was a little startled, and passing his fingers through his dusty hair, said, with a stupid laugh, '* Well, I never see the likes." The betting also began to shift " Sixpence Ned wins ! " cried three or four ; " Sixpence he loses ! " answered another; " Done 1 " and up went the halfpence. " Haif- a-crown Joe loses ! " — '* Here you are," answered Joe, but he lost again. " I'll try you a ' gen' " (shilling) said a coster ; " And a ' rouf yenap ' " ?fourpence), added the other. " Say a * exes ' " (sixpence). — ''Done I" and the betting con- tinued, till the ground was spotted with silver and halfpence. " That's ten bob he's won in five minutes," said Joe (the loser), looking round with a forced smile; but Ned ^the winner) never spake a word, even when he gave any change to his antagonist ; and if he took a bet, he only nodded to the one that offered it, and threw dovra his money. Once, when he picked up more than a sovereign from the ground, that he had won in one throw, a washed sweep, with a black rim round his neck, said, "There'i a hog!" but i Digitized by Google 18 LONDON LABOUR AND TUB LONDON POOR. there wasn't even a smile at the joke. At last Joe began to feel angry, and stamping his foot till the water equirted up from the beach, cried, " It's no use ; luck's set iu him— he'd muck a thousand ! " and so he shifted his ground, and betted all round on the chance pf better fortune attending the movement. He lost again, and some one bantering taid, " You'U win tne diine- rag, Joe," meaning that he would be " cracked up/' or ruined, if ne continued. When one o'clock struck, a lad left, saying, he was " going to get an inside lining" (dinnCT). The sweep asked him what he was going to have. " A two-and-half plate, and a ha'p'orth of smash" (a plate of soup and a ha'p'orth of mashed potatoes), replied the lad, bounding into the courts Nobody else seemed to care for his dinner, for all stayed to watch the gamblers. Every now and then some one would go up the court to see if the lad watching for the police was keeping a good look-out; but the boy never deserted his post, for fear of losing his threepence. If he had, such is the wish to protect the players felt by eyery lad, that even whilst at dinner, one of them, if he saw a police- man pass, would spring up and rush to the gambUng ring to give notice. When the tall youth, ** Ned," had won nearly all the silver of the group, he suddenly jerked his gains into his coat-pocket, and saying, *' I've done," walked off) and was out of sight in an instant The surprise of the loser and all aroimd was extreme. They looked at the court where he had disappeared, then at one another, and at last burst out into one expression of disgust " There's a scurf I " said one ; " He's a regular scab," cried another; and a eoster declared that he was ** a trosseno, and no mis- take." For although it is held to be fkir for the winner to go whenever he wishes, yet such conduct is never relished by the losers. It was then determined that " they would have him to rights" the next time he came to gamble ; for every one would set i^t him, and win his money, and then ** turn up," m he had done. The party was then broken up, the players separating to wait tor the new-comers that would be sure to pour in after dbner. "Vic. Gallery." On a good attractive night, the rush of costers to the Uireepenny gallery of the Cohurff (better known as *< the Vic ") is pec\)liar ana almost awfUL The long sig-Bas staircase that leads to the pay box is crowded to sufibcation at least an hour before the theatre Is opened ; but, on the occasion of a piece with a good murder in it, the crowd vdll frequently collect as early as three o'clock in the afternoon. Lads stand upon the broad wooden bannisters about dO feet from the mund, and jump on each others' backs, or iSopt any expedient they can think of to obtain a good place. The walls of tht well^stalrcate having a remarkably fine echo, and the wooden floor of the steps serving as a sounding board, the shouting, whistling, and quarrelling of the impatient young costers is increased tenfold. If, as sometimes happens, a song with a chorus is started, the ears positively ache with the din, and when the chant has finished it seems as though a sudden silence had fallen on the people. To the centre of the road, and all round the door, the mob is in a ferment of excite- ment, and no sooner is the money-taker at his post than the most frightftil rush takes place, every one heaving with his shoulder at the back of the person immediately in front of him. The girls shriek, men shout, and a nervous fear is felt lest the nuusive staircase should fall in with the weight of the throng, as it lately did with the most terrible results. If a hat tumbles from the top of the staircase, a hundred hands «natch at it as it descends. When it ia caught a voice roars above the tumult, "All right, Bill, I've got it" — for they all seem to know one another — " Keep us a pitch and I'll bring it'» To any one unaccustomed to be pressed fiat it woiild be impossible to enter witn the mob. To see the sight in the gallery it is better to wait until the first piece is over. The ham- sandwich men and pig*trotter women will give you notice when the time is come, for vdth the first clatter of the descending footsteps they commence their cries. There are few grown-up men that go to the "Vic" galUry. The generality of Uie visitors are lads from about twelve to three-and-twenty, and though a few black-faced sweeps or whitey- brown dustmen may be among the throng, tne gallery audience consists maiSy of costermon- gers. Young girls, too, are very plentiful, only one-third of whom now take their babies, owing to the new regulation of charging half-price for infants. At the foot of the staircase stands a group of boys begging fof the return checks, which they sell again for l|(f, or Id., according to the lateness of the hour. At each step up the well-staircase the warmth and stench increase, xmtil by the time one reaches the gallery doorway, a fiimace-heat rushes out through the entrance that seems to force you backwards, whilst the odour piiitively prevents respiration. The mob on the landing, standing on tiptoe and closely wedged together, resists any civil attempt at gaining a glimpse of the stage, and yet a coster lad will rush up, elbow his way into the crowd, then jump up on to the shoulders of those before him, and sud- denly disappear into the body of the gallery. The gallery at "the Vic" is one of the largest m London. It will hold from 1500 to 2000 people, and runs back to so great a distance, tnat the end of it is lost in shadow, excepting where the little gas-jets, against the wall, liffht up the two or three faces around them. When the gallery is well packed, it is usual to see piles of Doys on each others shoulders at the back, while on the partition Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUtt AND THE LONDON POOR. 19 boArdfl, dividihg off the slipt^ lftd« will piteh themselves, despite the spikes^ As you look up the Vast slahthig mass of heads teom the upper hosces, each one ApjpeAhi on the more. The huge blaek heap, dotted with fhces, and spotted with White shirt sleeves, almost pidns the eye to look &t> and should a clapping of handi commence, the twinkling nearly 'blinds you. It is the fitohion with the mob to take ofi' their eoats; and the eross-braces on the backs of dome> and the bare shoulders peepihg out of iho htgged shiiftb Of Others, are the Only variety to be found. The bonnets of the " ladies *' are hmig over the it6n railing in front, their ttUmber^ Aei^ly liiding the panels, and one of the amusements of the lads in the b&ck Seats consists in pitching Otange peel ot nutshells into them, a good aim being rewai^ed with a shout of laughter. When the orchestra begins playing, befblrfe "the gods'* have settled Into theUr seats, it is impossible to hear a note of mUsic. The puifcd.out cheeks of the trumneters, and tlie raised drumsticks tell you that tne overture has commenced, but no tune iii to be heard. Ah occasional burst of the fUll band being caUght by gushes, as if A high wind were raging. Recognitions tike place evety moment, and " Bill Bmith '* is cftUed to in a loud vmce from one side, and a shout In answer from the other asks "YThat^s up?" Of fkmily lecwts are revealed, and "Bob Triller" is asked wherfe " Sal ** is, and replies amid a roalr of laughter, that she is " a-larning the pynanney." By-and-by a youngster, who has come in late, jumps up over the shoulders at the door, and doubling himself into a ball, rolls down over the he&ds In front, leaving a trail of commotion for each one as he passes aims a blow at the fellow. Presently a fight is sure to begin, and then eveiry oUe rises from his seat whlbtunff and shouting; thtee or four piairs of arms fall to, the audience waving their hands till the moving mass seems like microscopic eels Ih paste. But the commotion ceases suddenly on the rising of the curtain, and then the cries of " iSilehce ! ** " Ord-a^a-r I *» ** Ord-a-a-r ! '* make more noise than eVer. The "Vic" gallcty Is not to be moved by touchitag sentiment They prefer vigorous exer- cise to ahy emotional BpeeCh. " The Child of the Storm* s" declaration that she Would share her father's " death or imprisonment as her duty." had no effect at all, compared with the split in the hornpipe. The shrill whistling and brayVos that followed the tar^s performance showed how highly it Was Ireli^hed, And one *< god" Went so far as to aik "hoW it Was done." The cOmic actor kicking A doieik Polish peasahts Was encored, but the gnmd biiUauet of the Czar of all the hussi&s only produced merriment, and A freqUest tiiitt he Would "give them a bit'* Wis made directiy the fimperol- took the willow.pattehied plate in his hand. All afifect- ing situ&tiottl Were sUfe to be interrupted by ches of "otdiuft-r;" and the lady beggfaig Ibr he* fktiler*s life was told to "speak up old gal;'* though When the heroine of the "dmnmestic dreamer" (as they call it) told the general of all the Cossack forces "not to be a fool," the uproar of appro^tion grew greater than ever,-— and when the lady turneil up hei* bwan's-down ittflS, and sel«mg four Russian soldiers shook them successively by the collat, then the enthusiasm knew no boUnds, and the cries Of " Bray-vo Vincent ! Go it my tulip I " resounded fh»m every throat Altogether the gallery Audience do not seem to be of a gentie UiilUre. One poor littie lad shouted out in a crying tone, " that he couldn't see,'* and instantly a dozen voices demanded " that he should be thrown over." Whilst the pieces aire going on, brown, flat botties are frequently raised to the mouth, and between the acts a man with ft tin can, glitter- ing in the gas-light, goes rotmd crying, " Port-a-a-a-r! who's for port-a-a-a-r." As the heat increased the fkCes grew bright red, every bonnet was taken off, and ladies could be seen Wipmg the pci-spiration from their cheeks with the play-bilU. No delay between the pieces will be allowed, and bhould the intetval appear too long, some one will shout out— tefbrnng to the Curtain— "Pull up that there winder blind!" or they will call to the orchestra, sayhig, "Now then you catgut- sci-apers ! Let*8 have a ha'purth of liveliness**' Neither will they suffer a play to proceed until they have a goOd view of the stage, and " Higher the blue,** la constantly shouted, when the skv i» too low, or "Light up the moon," when ue tranlparency is rather dim. The dances and comic songs, between the pieces, ate liked better than anything else. A nighland fling is certain to be repeated, and a stamping of n§et will accompany the tune, and a shnll whistling, keep time through the entire performance. But the grand hit of the evening id always when a song is sung to which the entire gallery can join in chorus* Hien a deep silence pre- vails all thtough the stanzas. Should any burst in before his time, a shoUt of " orda-a-r ^* is raised, and the intruder put down by a thousand indignant Cries. At the ptoper time, howevei^, the Uiroats of the mob bur^t forth in all theb strength. The most deafening noise breaks out suddenly, while the cat-calfs keep up the tune, and an imitation of a doien Mr. Punches squeak out the Words. Some actors at the minot theatres make a great point of this, and in the bill upon the night of my visit, under the titie of ^* I'here's a good time cotaiing, boya,** there was printed, " assisted by the most numerous and effective chorus in the mettopplia— ** meaning the whole of tiie gallery. The singer himself started the mob, saying, "NoW then, the E*eter Hall touch if you please gentiemen " and beat time with his hand, parodybig M. JulUen with hi* baton. Ah "angcorts" on stttth oasariona ia always Digitized by Google 20 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. demanded, and, despite a few murmurs of " change it to ' Duck-legged Dick/ " invariably insisted on. The Politics of Costermonoebs.— Policemen. The notion of the policikis so intimately blended with what may be caned the politics of the costerniongers that I give them together. Tlie politics of these people are detailed in a few words— they are nearly all Chartists. " You might say, sir," remarked one of my informants, ** that they all were Chartists, but as its better you should rather be under than over the mark, say nearly alL" Their ignorance, and their being impulsive, makes them a dangerous class. I am assured that m every district where the costerniongers are congregated, one or two of the body, more intelligent than the others, have g^eat influence over them; and these leading men are all Chartists, and being industrious and not unprosperous persons, their pecimiary and intellectual superiority cause them to be re- garded as oracles. One of these men said to me : " The costers think that working-men know best, and so they have confidence in us. I like to make men discontented, and I will make them discontented while the present system continues, because it's all for the middle and the moneyed classes, and nothing, in the way of rights, for the poor. People fancy when all's ^uiet that all's stagnating. Propagandism is gomg on for all that It's when all's quiet ihAt ue seed's a growing. Republicans and Socialists are press- ing their doctrines." The costermongers luive very vague notions of an aristocracy ; they call the more prosperous of their own body " aristocrats." Their notions of an aristocracy of birth or wealth seem to be formed on their opinion of the rich, or reputed rich salesmen with whom they deal ; and the result ia anything but favourable to the no- bility. Concerning free-trade, nothing, I am told, can check the costermongers* fervour for a cheap loat A Chartist costermonger told me that he knew numbers of costers who were keen Chartists wiriiout understanding anything about the six points. The costermongers frequently attend political meetings, going there in bodies of from six to twelve. Some of them, I learned, could not understand why Chartist leaders exhorted them to peace and quietness, when they might as well fight it out with the police at once. The costers boast, moreover, that they stick more together in any '*row" than any other class. It is con- sidered by them a refiection on the character of the thieves that they are seldom true to one another. It is a matter of marvel to many of this class that people can live without working. The ignorant costers have no knowledge of "pro- perty," or " income," and conclude that the non- workers all live out of the taxes. Of the taxes generally they judge from their knowledge that tobacco, which they account a necessary of life, pays 3«. per lb. duty. As regards the police, the hatred of a coster- monp^er to a "peeler" is intense, and with their opimon of the police, til the more ignorant unite that of the governing j»ower. ** Can you wonder at it, sir," said a costermonger to me, "that I hate the police ? They drive us about, we must move on, we can't stand here, and we can't pitch there. But if we're cracked up, that is if we're forced to go into the Union (I've known it both at Clerken well and the City of London workhouses, ) why the parish gives us money to buy a barrow, or a shallow, or to hire them, and leave the house and start for ourselves: and what's the use of that, if the police won't let us sell our goods? — Which is right, the parish or the police?" To thwart the police in any measure the costermong^ers readily aid one another. One very common procedure, if the policeman has seized a barrow, is to whip off a wheel, while the officers have gone for assistance ; for a large and loaded barrow requires two men to convey it to the green-yard. This is done with gjreat dex- terity ; and the next step is to dispose of the stock to any passing costers, or to any "standing" in the neighbourhood, and it is honestly accounted for. 'Hie policemen, on their return, find an empty, and unwheelable harrow, which they must carry off by main strength, amid the jeers of the populace. I am assured that in case of a political riot every "coster" would seize his policeman. Marriage and Concubinage of Costermongers. Only one-tenth— at the outside one- tenth— of the couples living together and carrying on the costermongering trade, are married. In Clerk- enwell parish, however, where the number of married couples is about a fifth of the whole, this di£ference is easily accounted for, as in Advent and Easter the mcumbent of that parish marries poor couples without a fee. Of the rights of "legitimate" or "illeeitimate" children the costermongers imderstand nothing, and account it a mere waste of money and time to go through the ceremony of wedlock when a pair can live toffether, and be quite as well regarded by their feUows, without it The married women associ- ate with the unmarried mothers of families with- out the slightest scruple. There is no honour attached to the marriage state, and no shame to concubinage. Neither are the unmarried women less faithful to their "partners" than the mar- ried ; but I understand that, of the two classes, the unmarried betray the most jealousy. As regards the fidelity of these women I was assured that, "in anything like good times," they were rigidly faithful to their husbands or paramours; but that, in the worst pinch of poverty, a departure fiom this fidelity — ^if it pro- vided a few meals or a fire — was not considered at all heinous. An old costermonger, who had been mixed up with other oallings, and whose Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. 21 pvejudices were certainly not in favour of his present trade, said to me, '* What I call the work- ing girls, sir, are as industrious and as faithful a set as can well be. I'm satisfied that they 're more faithful to their mates tlian other poor working women. I never knew one of these work- ing girls do wrong that way. They're strong, hearty, healthy girls, and keep clean rooms. Why, there's nmnbers of men leave their stock- money with their women, just takinff out two or three shillings to gamble with and get drunk upon. They sometmies take a little drop them- selves, the women do, and get beaten by their husbands for it, and hardest beaten if the man's drunk himseli They're sometimes beaten for other things too, or for nothing at alL But they seem to like the men better for their beating them. I never could make that out" Not- withstanding this fidelity, it appears that the "larkinjp; and joking" of the young, and some- times of the middle-aged people, among them- selves, is anything but delicate. The unmarried separate as seldom as the married. The fidelity characterizing the women does not belong to the men. The dancing-rooms ors the places where matches are made up. There the boys go to look out for ** mates," and sometimes a match is struck up the first night of meeting, and the couple live together forthwith. The girls at these dances are all the daughters of coster- mongers, or of persons pursuing some other course of street hfe. Unions take place when the lad is but 14. Two or three out of 100 have their female helpmates at that early age; but the female is generally a couple of years older than her partner. Nearly all the costermongers form such alHances as 1 have described, when both parties are under twenty. One reason why these alliances are contracted at early ages is, that when a boy has assisted his father, or any one engaging him, in the business of a coster- monger, he knows that he can borrow money, and hire a shallow or a barrow — or he may have saved 5s, — " and then if the father vexes him or snubs him," said one of my informants, "he'll tell his father to go to h — 1, and he ai^d his gal will start on their own account" Most of the costermongers have numerous families, but not those who contract alliances very young. The women continue working down to the day of their confinement • "Chance children," as they are called, or (Aildren unrecognised by any father, are rare among the young women of the costermongers. Religion of Costermongers. An intelligent and trustworthy man, until very recently actively engaged in costermongering, computed that not 3 in 100 costermongers had ever been in the interior of a church, or any place of workup, or knew what was meant by Christianity. The same person gave me the fol- lowing account, which was con^med by others : ** ^e costers have no religion at all, and very little notion, or none at all, of what religion or a future state is. Of all things they hate tracts. They hate them because the people leaving them never give them anything, and as they can't read the tract — not one in forty — they're vexed to be bothered with it And really what is the use of giving people reading before you've taught them to read ? Now, they respect the City Mission- aries, because they read to them — and the costers will listen to reading when they don't understand it — and because tiiey visit the sick, and sometimes give oranges and such like to them and the children. I've known a City Missionary buy a shilling's worth of oranges of a coster, and give them away to the sick and the children — most of them belonging to the costermongers — down the court, and that made him respected there. I think the City Missionaries have done good. But I'm satisfied that if the costers had to profess themselves of some religion to-morrow, they would all become Roman Catholics, every one of them. This is the reason : — London costers live very often in the same courts and streets as the poor Irish, and if the Irish are sick, be sure there comes to them the priest, the Sisters of Charity — they are good women — and some other ladies. Many a man that's not a Catholic, lias rotted and died without any good person near him. Why, I lived a good while in Lambeth, and there wasn't one coster in 100, I'm satisfied, knew so much as the rector's name, — though Mr. Dalton's a very good man. But the reason I was telling you of, sir, is that the costers reckon that religion's the best that gives the most in charity, and they think the Catholics do this. I'm not a Catholic myself, but I believe every word of the Bible, and have the greater belief that it's the word of God because it teaches democracy. The Irish in the courts get sadly chafied by the others about their priests, — but they'll die for the priest Religion is a regular puzzle to the costers. They see people come out of church and chapel, and as they're mostly well dressed, and there's very few of their own sort among the church-goers, the costers somehow mix up being religious with being respectable, and so they have a queer sort of feeling about it It's a mystery to them. It's shocking when you come to think of it They'll listen' to any preacher that goes among them ; and then a few will say — I've heard it often — * A b— y fool, why don't he let people go to h-11 their own way?' There's another thing that makes the costers think so well of the Catholics. If a Catholic coster— there's only very few of them — is 'cracked up' (penniless), he's often started again, and the others have a notion that it's through some chapel-fund. I don't know whether it is so or not, but I know the cracked-up men are started again, if they're Catholics. It's still the stranger that the regular costermongers, who are nearly all Londoners, should have such respect for the Roman Catholic;, when they have such a hatred of the Irish, whom they look upon as intruders and underminers." — " If a missionary came among Digitized by Google 22 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, us with plenty of money," said another coster- monger, "he might make us all Christians or TurkS) or anything he liked." Neither the Latter-day Saints, nor any similar sect, have made converts among the costermongers. Op tHE Uneducated St Atfi of Costermongers. I HAVB stated elsewhere, that only about one in ten of the regular costermongers is able to read. The want of education among both men and women is deplorable, and I tested it in several instances. The following statement, however, from one of the body, is no more to b6 taken as representing the ignorance of the class gene- rally, than are ue clear and discriminating accounts I received from intelligent coster- mongers to be taken as representing the intelli- gence of the body. The man with whom I conversed, and from whom I received the following statement, seemed about thirty. He was certamly not ill-looking, but with a heavy cast of countenance, his light blue eyes having little expression. His state- ments, or opinions, I need hardly explain, were given both spontaneously in the course of con- versation, and in answer to my questions. I give them almost verbatim^ omitting oaths and slang: "Well, times is bad, sir," he said, "but it's a deadish time. I don't do so well at present as in middlish times, I think. When 1 served the Prince of Naples, not far from here (I presume that he alluded to the Prince of Capua), I did better and times was better. That was five years ago, but I can't say to a year or two. He was a good customer, and was wery fond of peaches. I used to sell them to himi at 12*. the pbisket when they was new. The plasket held a dozen, and cost me 6t. at Covent-garden—more sometimes ; but I didn't charge him more when they did. His footman was a black man, and a ignorant man quite, and his housekeeper was a Englisli- woman* He wAs the Prince o* Naples, was my customer; but I don't know what he was like, for I never saw him. I've heard that he was the brother of the kinsp of Naples. I can't say where Naples is, hut if you was to ask at Euston-square, they'll tell you the fare there and the time to go it in. It may be in France for anvthing I know may Naples, or in Ireland. Why don't you ask at the square? I went to Croydon once by rail, and slept all the way without stirring, and so you may to Naples for anything I know. I never heard of the Pope being a neighbour of the King of Naples. Do you mean living next door to him ? But I don't know nothing of the King of Naples, only the prince. I don't know what the Pope is. Is he any trade 2 It's nothing to me, when he's no customer of mine. I have nothing to say about nobodv that ain't no customers. My crabs is caught in the sea, in course. I gets' them at Billmgsgate. I never ■aw the sea, but it's salt-water, I know. I can't say whereabouts it lays. I believe i|'8 in the hands of the Billingsgate salesmen — all of ii ? I've heard of shipwrecks at sea, caused by drowndine, in course. I never heard that the Prince of Naples was ever at sea. I like to talk about him, he was such a customer when he lived near here." (Here he repealed his account of the supply of peaclies to his Royal Highness.) ** 1 never was in France, no, sir, never. I don't know the way. Do you think 1 could do better there ? I never was in the Itepublic there. What's it like? Bona- parte ? O, yes ; Pve heard of him. He was at Waterloo. I didn't know he*d been alive now and in France, as you ask me about him. I don't think you're larking, sir. Did I hear of the French taking possession of Naples, and Bonaparte makmg his brother-in-law king? Well, I didn^t, but it may be true, because I served the Prince of Naples, what was the brother of the king; I never heard whether the Prince was the king's older brother or his younger. I wish he may tm-n out his older if there's property coming to hun, as the oldest has the first turn; at least so I've heard — first come, first served. I've worked the streets and the courts at all times, t* ve worked them by moonlight, but you couldn't see the moonlight where it was busy. 1 can't say how far the moon's 0^ us. It's nothing to me, but I've seen it a good bit higher than St Paul's. I don't know nothing about the sun. Why do you ask ? It must be nearer than the moon for it's warmer, — and if they're both fire, that shows it It's like the tap-room grate and that bit of a gas-light ; to compare the two is. What was St Paul's that the moon was above ? A church, sir ; so I've heard. I never was iu a church. O, yes, I've heard of God; he made heaven and earth ; 1 never heard of his making the sea i that's another thing, and you can best learn aoout that at BilUngsgate. (He seemed to think that the sea was an appur- tenance of Billingsgate.) Jesus Christ ? Yes. I've heard of him. Our Redeemer ? Well, I only wish I could redeem my Sunday togs from mv uncle's." Another costennonger, in answer to inquiries, said : "I 'spose you Uiink us 'riginal coves that you ask. We're not like Methusalem, or some such swell's name, (I presume that Malthiis was meant) as wanted to murder children afore they was bom, as I once heerd lectured^ about — we're noltiing like that" « Another on b^ing questioned, and on being told that the information was wanted for the press, replied : " The press ? I '11 have nothmg to say to it We are oppressed enough already." That a class nitmbering 30,000 should be per- mitted to remain in a state of almost brutish ignorance is a national disgrace. If the London costers belong especially to the " dangerous classes," the danger of such a body is assuredly an evil of our own creation ; for the gratitude of the poor creatures to any one who seeks to give them the least knowledge is almost pathetic. Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR JtND THE LONDON POOR, 28 LaKouAob of COBTEltkOlCaEtlS. Tbb ftlan^ Iftnruage of the cosiermongers is not very rem&rkAble ibr originality of conattuctiou ; it possesses no humour : but they boast that it is known only to themselves ; it is far beyond the Irish, they say, and putzles the Jews. The r&ot of tile costermonger tongue, so to speak, is to give the words spelt backward, or ratheir pronounced rudely baekward, — for in my present chapter tlie language has, I believe^ beeu reduced to ortho- graphy for the first time. With this backward pronunciation, which is very arbitrary, arc mixed words reducible to no rule and seldom referrable to any origin, thus complicating the mystery of this unwritten tongue t while any syllable is added to a proper slang word, at the discretion of the speaker. Slang is acquired very rapidly, and some cos- termongers wili converse hi it by the hour. The women use it sparingly ; the girls niorc than the women ; the men more than the girls ; and the boys most of all. The most ignorant of all these claatM deal most ih sl^g and boast of their cletemess and proficiency in it In their conversations among themselves, the follow- ing are invariably the terms used in money matters. A rude back- spelling may generally be traced : Ftatch Yenep Owt-yenep Erth-yenep Roi^f-yenep Eiv\f-yenep Exis-yenep . Nevex-yenep Teaich-yeittp Enine^yenep Net-yenep . Leven. . , Gen . . . Yenep-flatck Half^ichhy. Penny. Twopence. Threepence. Fourpencc. Flvcpcnce. Sixpence. Sevcnpelice. Eightpcnce. Ninepeiice; Tenpencc. Elevenpence. IVelvepence. Three half-pence. and so oti through the penny-halfpentUes. It was explained to me by a costermonger, who had introduced bome new words into the slang, that ** leven " was allowed so closely to resemble the proper word, because elevenpence was almost an uttknown sum to costermongers, the transition— weights and measures notwith- standihg— being immediate fhiu lOd. to It. "Oeti'* is a shilUng and the numismatic seouetl«e is pursued with the gens, as regards shillings, as with the *' yeneps " as regards pence* The blending of the two is also aocord- ing to the same system as " Owt-geii, teaich- yenep ** two-and-eightpence. The exception to the uniformity of the *' gen " enwneration is in the sum of 8»., which instead of " teaich- gen " is " teaieh-fruy :" a deviation with ample precedents in all elviiised tongues. As regards the larger coins the translation into slang is not reducible into rule. The fol- lowing are the costermonger coins of the higher value t Couier Sovereign. gen, ... .f Half-sovereign. Ewff'gen .... Crown. . Flatch-ynork . . . Half-crown. The costermongers still further complicate their slang by a mode of multiplication. Thw thus say, " Erth Ewif-gens" or 3 times 5«., which means of course \5t. Speaking of this language, a costermonger said to me : •* The Irish can't tumble to it anyhow ; the Jews can tumble better, but we're tJmr masters. Some of the young salesmen at Bil- lingsgate understand us, — but only at Billings- gate ; and they think they're uncommon clever, but they're not quite up to the mark. The police don't understand us at alL It would be a pity If they did." I give a few more phrases : A doogheno or dab- \ f Is it a good or bad heno? } \ market f A regular trosseno . . A regular bad one. On No. Say Yes. Tumble to your bat- \ tt j — * i ^jL^^ ^ y Understand you. Top 0* reel .... Pot of beer. Doing dab .... Doing badly. Coot him Look at hun. The latter phrdse is used when one coster- inonger warns another of the approach of a policeman " who might order him to move oh, or be otherwise unpleasant" **Cool" (look) is exclaimed, or " Cool him '* (look at him). One costermonger told me as a great joke that a very stout policeman, who was then new to the duty, was when in a violent state of perspiration, much ofifehded by ft costermonger saying " Cool him." Cool the esclop . . . Look at the police. Co^theiuimeictop. ' | Look^t tlie police- Cool ta the dillo nemo. |^^^ ** ^^« ^^^ \ woman i said of any woman, young or old, who, according to costermonger notions, is *' giving heuelf airs." This language seems confined, in its general use, to the immediate objects of the coster- monger's care ; but is, among the more acute members of the fraternity, greatly extended, and is capable of indefinite extension. iTie costermongers oaths, I may conclude, are all in the vernacular ; nor are any of the common sHutes. such as " How d'you do ?" or " Good-night'* known to their slang. Ktnnetteeno. . . . Stinking; (applied principally to the quality of fish.) Flatchkanurd « . Half-drunk. Flash it Show it ; (in cases of bargains offered.) On doog No good. Digitized by Google 24 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. Cross chap • . • . A thicC ShoufulU .... Bad money ; (seldom in the hands of costennongers.) /'m on to the deb , . I'm going to hed. Do the tightner . . Oo to dinner. Nommus Be oC Tol Lot, Stock, or Share. Many costermongers, ** but principally—per- haps entirely," — I was told, "those who had not been regular bom and bred to the trade, but had taken to it when cracked up in their own," do not trouble themselves to acquire any know- ledge of slang. It is not indispensable for the carrying on of their business ; the grand object, however, seems to be, to shield their bargainings at market, or their conversation among them- selves touching tlieir day's work and profits, from the knowledge of any Irish or uninitiated fellow- traders. The sunple principle of costermonger slang — that of pronouncing backward, may cause its acquirement to be regarded by the educated as a matter of ease. But it is a curious fact that lads who become costermongers' boys, without previous association with the class, acquire a fery ready command of the language, and this though they are not only unable to spell, but don't " know a letter in a book." I saw one lad, whose parents had, until five or six months back, resided in the country. The lad himself was fourteen j he told me he had not been " a cos- termongering " more than three months, and prided nimself on his mastery over slang. To test his abUity, I asked him the coster's word for ''hippopotamus;" he answered, with tole- rable readiness, " musatoppop." I then asked him for the like rendering of "equestrian" (one of Astley's bills having caught my eye). He replied, but not quite so readily, "nirtseque." The last test to which I subjected him was "good-naturedly;" and though I induced him to repeat the word twice, I could not, on any of the three renderings, distinguish any precise sound beyond an indistinct gabbling, concluded emphatically with "doog:" — "good" being a word with which all these traders are familiar. It must be remembered, that the words I de- manded were remote from the young coster- monger's vocabulary, if not from his under- standing. '* Before I left this boy, he poured forth a minute or more's gibberish, of which, fix»m its rapid utterance, I could distinguish nothing; but I found from hit after explanation, that it was a request to me to nuike a further purchase of his walnuts. This slang is utterly devoid of any applica- bility to humour. It gives no new fact, or approach to a fact, for pUlologists. One supe- rior g^enius among the costers, who has invented words for them, told me that he had no system for coining his term. He gave to the known words some terminating syllable, or, as he called it, " a new turn, just," to use his own words, *' as if he chonused them, with a tol-de-rok" The intelligence communicated in this slang is, in a great measure, communicated, as in othei slang, as much by the inflection of the voice, the emphasis, the tone, the look, the shrug, the nod, the wink, as by the words spoken. Op the Nicknames of Costermongers. Like many rude, and almost all wander- ing conmiunities, the costermongers, like the cabmen and pickpockets, are hardly ever known by their real names ; even the honest men among them are distinguished by some strange appel- lation. Indeed, they are all known one to anotlier by nicknames, which they acquire either by some mode of dress, some remark that has ensured costermonger applause, some peculiarity in trading, or some defect or singularly in Srsonal appearance. Men are known as " Rotten errings," " Spuddy" fa seller of bad potatoes, imtil beaten by the Irish for his bad wares,) " Curly • ' ^a man with a curly head), " Foreigner ' ' (a man wno had been in the Spanish- Legion), " Brassy" (a very saucy person), " Gaffy" (once a^ performer), "The One-eyed Buflfer," "Jaw- breaker," " Pine-apple Jack," " Cast-iron Poll" (her head having been struck with a pot witliout injury to her), " Whilky," " Blackwall Poll" (a woman generally having two black eyes), " Lushy Bet," " Dirty Sail" (the costermongers generally objecting to dirtywomen), and " Danc- ing Sue." Op the Education of Costermonqerb* Children. I have used the heading of " Education," but perhaps to say " non-education," would be more suitable. Very few indeed of the costermongers' children are sent even to the Ragged Schools ; and if they are, from all I could learn, it is done more that the mother may be saved tlie trouble of tending them at home, than from any desire that the children shall acquire useful knowledge. Both boys and girls are sent out by their parents in the evening to sell nuts, oranges, &c, at the doors of the theatres, or in any public place, or " round the houses" (a stated circuit from their place of abode). This trade they pursue eagerly for the sake of ** bunts,' ' though some carry home the money Ihey take, very honestly. The costermongers are kind to their children, "perhaps in a rough way, and the women make regular pets of them very often." One experienced man told me, that he^ had seen a poor costermonger* s wife — one of the few who could read — instructing her children in reading ; but such instances were very rare. The educa- tion of these children is such only as the streets afibrd ; and the streets teach them, for the most part — and in greater or lesser degrees, — acutt- ness — a precocious acutenesa— in all that con- cerns their immediate wants, business, or gratifi- cations ; a patient endurance of cold and hunger ; a desire to obtain money without working for it ; a craving for the excitement of gambling ; an inordinate love of amusement ; and an irrepres- sible repugnance to any settied in-door industry. Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. 25 The Literature of Costermongers. We have now had an inkling of the London costemionger'8 notions upon politics and religion. We have seen the brutified state in which he is allowed by society to remain, though possessing the same faculties and susceptibilities as oiir- s«lves— the same power to perceive and admire the forms of truth, beauty, and goodness, as even the very highest in the state. We have witnessed how, instinct with all the elements of manhood and beastliood, the qualities of the beast are prin- cipally developed in him, while those of the man are stimted in their growth. It now remains for us to look into some other matters concerning this curious class of people, and, first, of their literature : It may appear anomalous to speak of the lite- rature of an uneducated body, but even the costermongers have their tastes for books. They are very fond of hearing any one read aloud to them, and listen very attentively. One man often reads the Sunday paper of the beer-shop to them, and on a fine summer's evening a coster- monger, or any neighbour who has the advantage of being "a schollard," reads aloud to them in the courts they inhabit What they love best to listen to— and, indeed, what they are most eager for — are Reynolds's periodicals, especially the " Mysteries of the Court.*' " They've got tired of Lloyd's blood-stained stories," said one man, who was in the habit of reading to them, " and I'm satisfied tliat, of all London, Reynolds is the most popular man among them. They stuck to him in Trafalgar-square, and would again. They all say he's *a trump,' and Feargus O'Connor's another trump with them."* One intelligent man considered that the spirit of curiosity manifested by costermongers, as regards the information or excitement derived fipom hearing stories read, augured well for the improvability of the class. Another intelligent costermonger, who had recently read some of the cheap periodicals to ten or twelve men, women, and boys, all coster- mongers, gave me an account of the comments made by his auditors. They had assembled, afler their day's work or their rounds, for the purpose of hearing my informant read the last number of some of the penny publications. "The costermongers," said my informant, ** are very fond of illustrations. I have known a man, what couldn't read, buy a periodical what hud an illustration, a little out of the common way perhaps, just that he might learn from some one, who could read, what it was all about They have all heard of Cruikshank, and they think everything funny is by him — funny scenes in a play and all. His * Bottle * was very much ad- mired. I heard one man say it was very prime, and showed what * lush ' did , but I saw the same man," added my informant, " drunk three hours afterwards. Look you here, sir," he continued, turning over a periodical, for he had the number with him, " here's a portrait of * Catherine of Russia.' ' Tell us all about her,' said one man to me last night ; read it ; what was she ? ' When I had read it," my informant continued, " another man, to whom I showed it, said, 'Don't the cove as did that know a deal ? ' for they fancy — at least, a many do — that one man writes a whole peri- odical, or a whole newspaper. Now here," pro- ceeded my friend, " you see's an engraving of a man hung up, burning over a fire, and some costers would go mad if they couldn't learn what he'd been doing, who he was, and all about him. ' But about the picture?' they wo old say, and this is a very common question put by them whenever they see an engraving. " Here's one of the passages that took their fancy wonderfully," my informant observed : ' With glowing checks, flashing eyes, and palpitating bosom, Venetia Trelawney rushed back into tiie reftesh- raeiit-room, where she threw herself into one of the arm-chairs already noticed. But scarcely had she tbus sunk down upon the flocculent cushion, when a sharp click, as of some mechanism giving way, met her ears ; and at the same instant her wrists were caught in manacles which sprang out of the arms of the treacher- ous chair, while two steel bands started from the richly- carved back and grasped her shoulders. A shriek burst ftrom her lips — she struggled violently, but all to no purpose : for she was a captive— and powerless 1 ' We should observe that the manacles and the steel bands which had thus futened upon her, were covered with velvet, so that they inflicted no positive injury upon her, nor even produced the slightest abrasion of her fair and polished skin.' Here all my audience," said the man to me, "broke out with — *Aye! that's the way the harristocrats hooks it There's nothing o' that sort among us ; the rich has all that barrikin to themselves.' * Yes, that's the b— — way the taxes goes in,' shouted a woman. " Anything about the police sets them a talk- ing at once. This did wnen 1 read it : ' The Ebenesers still continued their fierce struggle, and, ttom the noise they made, seemed as if they were tearing each other to pieces, to the wild roar of a chorus of profane swearing. The alarm, as Bloomfield had predicted, was soon raised, and some two or three policemen, with their bull's-eyes, and still more effec- tive truncheons, speedily restored order.' * The blessed crushers is everywhere,* shouted one. ' I wish I'd been there to have had a sliy at the eslops,' said another. And then a man sung out : • O, don't I like the Bobbys ? ' " If there's any foreign language which can't be explained, I've seen the costers," mjr in- formant went on, "annoyei at it — quite annoyed. Another time I read part of one of Lloyd's numbers to them — but they like something spicier. One article in them — iere it is — fuiishes in this way : " The social habits and costumes of the Magyar noblette have almost all the characteristics of the cor- responding class in Ireland. This word nobleu* is one of wid« s^niflcation in Hunfl^ry ; and one may with great truth say of this strange natiou, that '^tii n'est point noble n'est rien.' " * I can't tumble to that barrikm,' said a young fellow ; ' it's a jaw-breaker. But if this here— what d' ye call it, you talk about— was like the Irish, why they was a rum lot' * Noblesse,' said a man that's considered a clever fellow, from having once learned his letters, though he can't No. H. Digitized by Google 20 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOH. read or write. * Noblesse ! ' Blessed if I know what he's up to/ Here there was a regular laugh." From other quarters I learned that some of the costermongers who were able to read, or ' loved to listen to reading, purchased their litera- ture in a very commercial spirit, frequently bujing tlie periodical which is the largest in size, because when " they've got the reading out of it," as they say, " it's worth a halfpenny for the barrow." Tracts they will rarely listen to, but if any persevering man will read tracts, and state that he does it for their benefit and improvement, they listen without rudeness, though often with evident unwillingness. " Sermons or tracts," said one of their body to me, " gives them the 'orrova." Costermongers purchase, and not imfrequently, the first number of a penny periodical, " to see what it's like." The tales tf robbery and bloodshed, of heroic, eloquent, and gentlemanly highwa}inen, or of gipsies turning out to be nobles, now interest the costennongers but little, although they foimd great delight in such stories a few years back. Works relating to Courts, potentates, or " har- ristocrats," are the most relished by these rude people. Of the Honesty op CosTERMONaERS, I heard on all hands tliat the costers never steal from one another, and never wink at any one stealing from a neighbouring stall. Any stall- keeper will leave his stall untended to get his dinner, his neighbour acting for him ; sometimes he will leave it to enjoy a game at skittles. It was competed for me, that property worth 1 0,000/. belonging to costers is daily left exposed in the streets or at the jnaykets, almost entirely un- watched, the policeman or market- keeper only passing at intervals. And vet thefts are rarely heard of, and when heard or are not attributable to costermongers, but to regular thieves. The way in which the sum of 10,000/. was arrived at, is this : " In Hooper- street, Lambeth," said ray informant, "there aie thirty barrows and carts exposed on an evening, left in the street, with nobody to see to them; left there all night That is only one street Each barrow and board would be worth, on the average, 21. 5«., and that would be 75t In the other bye-streets and courts off the Kew-cut are six times as many. Hooper-street having the most This woiild rive 5251. in all, left imwatched of a night There are, throughout London, twelve more districts be- sides the New-cut — at least twelve districts — and, calculating the same amount in these, we have, altogether, C,30p/, worth of barrows. Taking in other bye- streets, we may safely reckon it at l-.OOO barrows ; for the numbers I have given In the thirteen places are 2,520, and 1,480 added is moderate. At least half of those which are in use next day, are left unwatched ; more, J have I no doubt, but say hald The stock of these 2,000 I will average IQs. each, or 1,000/.; and the bar- ; rows will be wprth 4,500/. j in all 5,600/., and the property exposed on thestalls and the markets will be double in amoimt, or 11,000/. in value, every day, but say 10,000/. "Besides, sir," I was told, "the thieves won't rob the costers so often as they will the shopkeepers. It's easier to steal fi'om a butcher's or bacon-seller's open window than from a cos- termonger's stall or barrow, because the shop- keeper's eye can't be always on his goods. But there's always some one to give an eye to a cos- ter's property. At Billingsgate the thieves will . rob tne salesmen far readier than they will us. They know we*d take it out of them readier if they were caught. It's Lynch law with us. We never give them in charge." The costermongers* boys will, I am ipfonned, cheat their employers, but they do not steal from them. The costers' donkey stables have seldom cither lock or latch, and sometimes oysters, and other thmgs which the donkey will not molest, are left there, but arc never stolen. Op the Conveyances of the Coster- MONOERS AND OTHER StREET-SELLERS. We now come to consider the matters relating more particularly tp the commercial life of the costermonger* All who pass along the thoroughfares of the Metropolisj bestowing more than a cursory glance upon tlie many phases of its busy street life, nmst be struck with astonishment to observe the various modes of conveyance, used by those who resort to the public thoroughfares for a live- liliood. From the more provident costenponger's pony and donkey cart, to the old rusty iron tray slung round the neck by tlie vendor of black- ing, and dowp to the litUe grey-eyed Irish boy with his lucifer-matchcs, ip the last remains of a willow hand-basket— the shape and variety of the means resorted to by the costermongers and other street-sellers, for carrying about their goods, are almost as manifold as the articles they vend. The pny— or donkey — carts (and the latter is by rar the more usual beast of draught), of the prosperous costermongers are of three kmds :~the first is of an oblong shape, with a rail behind, upon which is placed a tray filled with bunches of greens, turnips, celer)', &c., whilst other commodities are laid in the bed of the cart Another kind is the common square cart with- out springs, which is so construQted that the sides, as well as the front and back, will let down and form shelves whereon the stock njay be arranged to advantage. Tlie third sort of pony-cart is one of home manufacture, con- sisting of the framework of a body withput sides, or front, or hind part Sometimes a cos- ter's barrow is formed into a donkey cart merely by fastening! with cord, two rough poles to the handles. All these several kinds of carts are used for the conveyance of either fruit, vege- tables, or fish ; but besides those, there is the salt and mustard vendor's cart, with and with- out the tilt or covering, and a square piece of tin (stuck into a block of salt), on which is Digitized by GooglQ LONDON L4B0UR AND THM ION DON POOR, 27 painted " salt 3 lbs. a penny," and '* mustard a penny an ounce " Then there is the poultry cart, with the wild-ducks, and rabbits dangling at its sides, and with two uprights and a cross- stick, upon which are suspended birds, &c., slung across in couples. The above conveyances are all of small dimensions, the banows being generally about five feet long and three wide, while the carts are mostly about four feet square. Every kind of harness is used j some ia well blacked and greased and glittering with brass, others are almost as grey with dust as the donkey itself. Some of the jackasses are gaudUy capa- risoned in an old carriag^-hamesa, which fits it like a man's coat on a boy's back, while the plated silver ornaments are pink, with the cop- per showing through ; others have rope traces and belly-bands, and not a few imlulge in old cotton handkerchiefs for pads. The next conveyance (which, indeed, is the most general) is tlie costermonger's hand-bar- row. These are very light in their make, with springs terminatmg at the axle. Some have rails behind for the arrangement of their goods ; others have not. Some have side rails, whilst others have only the frame-work. The shape of these barrows is oblong, and sloped from the hind- part towards the front j the bot- tom of the bed is not boarded, but consists of narrow strips of wood nailed athwart and across. Vpaen the coster is hawking his fish, or vending his green stuiF, he provides himself with a wooden tray, which is nlaced upon his barrow. Those who cannot afibrd a tray get some pieces of board and fasten them together, these answer*' ii\g their purpose as well. Pine.apple and pine-apple rock barrows are not unfrequently seen with small bright coloured flags at the four comers, fluttermg in the wfaid. The knife-cleaner's barrow, which has lately appeared in the streets, must not be passed over here. It consists of a huge aentry.box, with a door, and is fixed upon two small wheels, being propelled in the same way as a wheel-barrow. In the interior is one of Kent's Patent Knife- cleaning Machines, worked by turning a handle. Then there are the cat and dog's-meat barrows. These, however, are merely common wheelbar- rows, witli a board in front and a ledge or shelf, formed by a piece of board nailed across the top of the barrow, to answer the purpose of a cutting-board. Lastly, there is the hearth- stone barrow, piled up with hearth-stone, Bath-brick, and lumps of whiting. Another mode of conveying the goods through the streets, is by baskeU of various kinds j as the sieve or head basket ; the square and oval *• shallow," fastened m front of the fruit- woman with a strap round the waist ; the band-basket ; and the " prickle." The sieve, or head- basket, is a round willow basket, containing about one- third of a bushel The square and oval shallows are willow baskets, about four inches deep, and thirty inches long, by eighteen broad. The hand-basket is the oonuuon oval basket, with a hai\dle across to hang unou the arm ; the latter are generally used by the Irish for onions and ^ples. The prickle is a byowix willow basket, in which walnuts are imported into this country from the Cpntinent; they are about thirty inches deep, aud iq bulk rather larger than a gallon measure ; they are used only by the vendors of walnuts. Such are the principal forms of the coster- mongers' conveyances; but besides carts, bar- rows, and baskets, there are many other means adopted by the London street- sellers for carrying their goods from one part of the metropolis tp another. The principal of these are cans, trays, boxes, and poles. The baked potato-oans sometimes are square and sometimes oval; they arf made with and without legs, a lid fastened on with hinges, and have a small charcoal fire fixed at the bottom of the can, so as to keep the potatoes hot, while there is a pipe at top to let off the steam. On one side of the can is a little compi^rtment ibr the salt, and another on the other side for the butter. The hot pie-can is a square^ tin can, standing upon four legs, with a door in front, and three partitions inside ; a fire is kept in the bottom, and the pies arranged in order upon the iron plates or shelves. liV'hen the pies at tlie bottom are sufficiently hot they are taken out, and placed on the upper shelf, wliilst those above are removed to the lower compartments, by which means all the pies are kept *' hot (ind hot." The muffin and crumpet -boy carries his articles in a basket, covered outside with oil- cloth and inside with green -baiae, either at his back, or slung over his arm, and rings his be)l as he walks. The blacking boy, congreve-matoh and water- cress girl, use a rusty tray, spread over with their ** goods," and suspended to tlie neck by a piece of string. The vendors of corn-salve, plating b^s, soap for removing g^rease spots, paper, steel pens, envelopes, &c., carry their commodities in front of them in boxes, suspended round the neck by a narrow leather strap. Rabbits and game are sometimes carried in baskets, and at other times tied together and slung over a pole upon the shoulder. Hat and bonnet-boxes are likewise conveyed upon apole. Door-mats, baskets and " dufi^r's " ^wtkJ^ wood pails, brushes, brooms, clothes-props, clothes-lines and string, and grid-irons, Dutch- ovens, skewers and fire-shovels, are carried across the shoulder. Of the '* Smithfibld Races." Having set forth the costermonger's usual mode of convejring his goods througn the streets of London, I shall now give the reader a descrip- tion of the place and scene where and when he purchases his donkeys. When a costermonger wishes to sen or buy a donkey, he goes to Smithfield-market on a Fri- day afternoon. On this' day, between the hours of one and five, there is a kind of fair held, Digitized by Google 28 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, attended solely by costermongers, for whose con- venience a long paved slip of ground, about eighty feet in length, has been set apart The |nimals for sale are trotted up and down this — the " race- course," as it is called — and on each side of it stand the spectators and purchasers, crowding among the stalls of peaa-soup, hot eels, and other street delicacies. Every thing necessary for the startinjg of a costermonger's barrow can be had m Smithfield on a Friday, — from the barrow itself to the weights— from the donkey to the whip. The anhnals can be purchased at pnces rangmg from 5*. to 3/. On a brisk market-day as many as two hundred donkeys have been sold. The bar- rows for sale are kept apart from the steeds, but harness to any amount can be found eveiywhere, in all degrees of excellence, from the bright japanned cart saddle with its new red pads, to the old mouldy trace covered with buckle marks. Wheels of every size and colour, and sprmgs in every stage of rust, are hawked about on all sides. To the usual noise and shouting of a Saturday night's, market is added the shrill squealing of distant pigs, the lowing of the passing oxen, the bleating of sheep, and the braying of donkeys. The paved road all down the ** race-course" is level and soft, with the mud trodden down between the stones. The policeman on duty there wears huge fishermen's or flushermen's boots, reaching to their thighs ; and the trouser ends of the costers' corduroys are black and sodden with wet dirt Every variety of odour fills the air; you pass from the stable smell that hangs about the donkeys, into an atmosphere of apples and fried fish, near the eating-stalls, while a few paces frirther on you are nearly choked with the stench of goats. The crowd of black hats, thickly dotted with red and yellow plush caps, reels about; and the "hi-hi-i-i" of the donkey-runners sounds on all sides. Sometimes a curly-headed bull, with a fierce red eye, on its way to or from the ac^acent cattle-market, comes trotting down the road, making all the visitors rush suddenly to the railings, for fear — as a coster near me said — of " being taught the hornpipe." The donkeys standing for sale are ranged m a long line on both sides of the " race-course," their white velvetty noses resting on the wooden rail they are tied to. Many of them wear their blinkers and head harness, and others are ornamented with ribbons, fastened in their hal- ters. The lookers-on lean against this railing, and chat with the boys at the donkeys' heads, or with the men who stand behind them, and keep continually hitting and shouting at the poor still beasts to make them prance. Sometimes a party of two or three will be seen closely examining one of these " Jerusalem ponys," passing their hands down its legs, or looking quietly on, while the proprietor's ash stick descends on the patient brute's back, making a dull hollow sound. As you walk in front of the long line of donkeys, the lads seize the animals by their nostrils, and show their large teeth, askmg if you '* want a hass, sir," and all warranting the creature to be " five years old next bu£day." Dealers are quarrel- ling among themselves, downcrying each other's goods. " A hearty man," shouted one proprietor, pointing to his rival's stock, '' could eat three sich donkeys as youm at a meal." One fellow, standing behind his steed, shouts as he strikes, ** Here's the real Brittannia mettle ;" whilst another asks, " Who's for the Pride of the Market ?" and then proceeds to flip "th6 pride" with his whip, till die clears away the mob with her kickmgs. Here, standing by its mother, will be a shaggy little colt, with a group of ragged boys foncUing it, and lifting it in their arms from the ground.' During all this the shouts of the drivers and runners fill the air, as they rush past each other n the race -course. Now a tall fellow, dragging a donkey after him, runs by crying, as he charges in amongst the mob, "Hulloa! HuUoa ! hi ! hi ! * his mate, with his long coat- tails flying in the wind, hurrying after and roar- ing, between his blows, " Keem-up!" On nearly every post are hung traces or bridles ; and in one place, on the occasion of my visit, stood an old collar with a donkey nibbling at the straw that had burst out Some of the lads, in smock-frx)cks, walk about with cart- saddles on their heads, and crowds gather round the trucks, piled up with a black heap of harness studded with brass. Tliose without trays have spread out old sacks on the ground, on which are laid axle-trees, bound- up springs, and battered carriage-lamps. There are plenty of rusty nails and iron bolts to be had, if a barrow should want mending ; and if the handles are broken, an old cab -shaft can be bought cheap, to repair them. In another " race-course," opposite to the donkeys, — the ponies are sold. These make a curious collection, each one showing what was his last master's whim. One has its legs and belly shorn of its hair, another has its mane and tail cut close, and some have switch tails, muddy at tlie end from their length. A big- hipped black nag, with red tinsel-like spots on its back, had its ears cut close, and another curly-haired brute tliat was wet and steaming with having been shown off", had two huge letters burnt into its hind- quarters. Here the clattering of the hoofs and the smacking of whips added to the din; and one poor brute, with red empty eye- holes, and carrymg its head high up— as a bund man does — sent out show- ers of sparks from its hoofs as it spluttered over the stones, at each blow it received. Occasion- ally, in one part of the pony market, there may be seen a crowd gathered round a nag, that some one swears has been stolen fit>m him. Raised up over the heads of the mob are bundles of whips, and men push their way past, with their arms full of yellow-handled curry- combs ; whilst, amongst other cries, is heard that of " Sticks ! dress like the men, with large pockets in their cord jackets and plenty of them. Their trowsers too must fit tight at the knee, and their boots they like as good as pos- sible. A good "King's-man," a pluah skull cap, and a seam down Sie trowsers are the great points of ambition with the coster boys. A lad about fourteen informed 'me that "brass buttons, like a huntman's, with foxes' heads on em, looked stunning flash, and the gals liked em." As for the hair, they say it ought to be long in front, and done in " figure- six " curls, or twisted back to the ear "Newgate-knocker style." " But the worst of hair is," they add, " that it is always getting cut off in qnod, all along of muzzh'ng the bobbies." The whole of the coster-boys are fond of good living. I was told ^at when a lad started Digitized by Google THK COSTEU-GIRL. •Apples! An 'aypenny a lot, Apples!" [From a Daguerreotype by Beard] Digitized by Google Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONbON POOR, 39 for himself, he would for the first week or so live almost entirely on cakes and nuts. When settled in business they always manage to have what they call '* a relish " for breakfast and tea, " a couple of herrings, or a bit of bacon, or what not.' ' Many of them never dine except- ing on the Sunday — tlie pony and donkey pro- prietors being the only costers whose incomes will permit tljem to indulge in a " fourpenny plate of meat at a cook's shop." The whole of the boys too are extremely lond of pudding, and should the "plum diiir" at an eating- house contain an unusual quantity of plums, the news soon spreads, and the boys then endeavour to work tliat way so as to obtain a slice. While waiting for a market, the lads will very often spend a shilling in the cakes and three cornered puffs sold by the Jews. Tlie owners toss for them, and so enable the young coster to indulge his two favourite passions at the same time — his love of pastry, and his love of gambling. The Jews crisp butter biscuits also rank very high with the boys, who declare that thev **slip down like soapsuds down a gully hole." In fact it is cunous to notice how perfectly unrestrained are the passions and appetites of these youths. The only thoughts that trouble them are for their girls, their eating and their gambling — beyond the love of self they have no tie mat binds them to existence. The Life op a CosTEtt-LAD. One lad that I spoke to gave me as much of his history as he could remember. He waa a tall stout boy, about sixteen years old, with a face utterly vacant His two heavy lead- coloured eyes stared unmeaningly at me, and, beyond a constant anxiety to keep his front lock curled on his cheek, he did not exhibit the slightest trace of feeling. He sank into his scat heavily and of a heap, and when once settled down he remained motionless, with his mouth open and his hands on his knees — almost as if paralyzed. l!e was dressed in all the slang beauty of his class, with a bright red handker- chief and unexceptionable boots. " My father " he told Ine in a tliick unim- passioncd voice, " was a waggoner, and worked the country roads. There was two on us at home witli mother, and we used to play along with the boys of our court, in Oolding-lane, at buttons and marbles. I recollects nothing more than this — only the big boys Used to cheat like bricks and thump us if we grumbled — that 's all I recollects of my infancy, as you calls it Pitther Tve heard tell died when I was three and brother only a year old. It was worse luck for us ! — Mother was so easy with us. I once went to school for a couple of weeks, but tlie cove used to fetch me a wipe orer the knuckles with his stick, and as I wasn't gobig to stand that there, why you see I aint no great schol- lard. We did as we liked with motlier, she was so precious easy, and 1 never learned any- thing but playing buttons and making leaden 'bonces,' that's ^11," (here the youth laughed slightly.) " Mother used to be up and out very early washing in families — anything for a livuiff. She was a good mother to us. We was left at home with the key of the room and some bread and butter for dinner. Afore she got into work — and it was a goodish long time — we was shocking hard up, and she pawned nigh everything. Sometimes, when we had'nt no grub at all, the other lads, perhaps, would give us some of tlieir bread and butter, but often our stomachs used to ache with the hunger, and we would cry when we was werry far gone. She used to be at work from six in the morning till ten o'clock at night, which was a long time for a child's belly to hold out again, and when it was dark we would go and lie down on the bed and try and sleep until she came home with the food. I was eight year old then. "A man as know'd mother, said to her, ' Your boy's got notliing to do, let him come along with me and yarn a few ha'pence,' and so I bccanle a ooster. He gave me 4rf. a morning and my breakfast I worked with him about three year, until I learnt tlie markets, and then I and brother got baskets of our own, and used to keep mother. One day with another, the two on us together could make 2i. 6d. by selling greens of a morning, and going round to the publics with nilts of a evening, till about ten o'clock at night Mother used to have a bit of fried meat ot a stew ready for us when we got home, and by using up the stock as we couldn't sell, we used to manage pretty tidy. When 1 was fourteen I took up with a girl. She lived In the same house as we did, and I used to walk out of a night with her and give her half-pints of beer at the publics. She were about thirteen, and Used to dress werry nice, though she weren't above middling pretty. Now I'm wotking for another man as gives me a shilling a week, victuals, washing, and lodging, just as if I was one of the family. " On a Sunday I goes out selling, and all I yams I keens. As for going to church, why, I can't afford it,— besides, to tell the trutli, I doti't like it well chough. Plays, too, ain't in my line much ; I'd soonef go to a dance— its more livelier. The * penny gaffs ' is rather more in my style ; the songs are out and out, and makes our gals laugh. The snmttiet the better, I thinks ; bless you ! the gald likes it as much as we do. If we lads ever has a quarrel, why, we fights for it If I was to let a cove off once, ITe'd do it again ; but 1 never give a lad a chance, so long as I can get anigh him. I never beard about Christianity; but if a cove was to fetch me a lick of the head, I'd give it him again, whether he was a big 'un or a little 'un. I'd precious soon see a heneiny of mine shot afore I'd forgive him, — where' s the use / Do I understand what behaving to your neigh- bour is ? — In coorse I do. If a filler as lives next me wanted a basket of mine as I wasn't using, why, he might have it ; if I was working it though, I'd see hhn further ! I can under- Digitized by Google 40 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. stand that all as lives in a court is neighbours ; but as for policemen, they're notliing to me, and I should like to pay *An all off* well. No ; I never heerd about this here creation you speaks about In coorse God Almighty made the world, and the poor bricklayers' labourers built the houses arterwards — that's my opinion ; but I can't say, for I've never been in no schools, only always hard at work, and knows nothing about it I have heerd a little about our Saviour, T— they seem to say he were a goodish kind of a man ; but if he says as how a cove's to forgive a feller as hits you, I should say he know'd nothing about it In coorse the gals the lads goes and lives with thinks our walloping 'em wery cruel of us, but we don't Why don't we ? — why, because we don't Before father died, I used sometimes to say my prayers, but after that mother was too busy getting a living to mind about my praying. Yes, I knows ! — ^in the Lord's prayer they says, ' Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgives them as trespasses agin us.' It's a very good thing, in coorse, but no costers can't do it" Op the "Penny Gaff." In many of the thoroughfares of London there are shops which have been turned into a kind of temporary theatre (admission one penny), where dancing and singing take place every night Rude pictures of the performers are arranged outside, to give the front a gaudy and attractive look, and at night-time coloured lamps and transparencies are displayed to draw an au- dience. These places are called by the costers " Penny Gaffs;" and on a Monday night as many as six performances will take place, each one having its two hundred visitors. It is impossible to contemplate the ignorance and inunorality of so numerous a class as that of the costermong^rs, without wishing to discover the cause of their degradation. Let any one curious on this point visit one of these penny shows, and he will wonder that any trace of virtue and honesty should remain among the people. Here the stage, instead of being the means for illustrating a moral precept, is turned into a platform to teach the crudest debauchery. The audience is usually composed of children so young, that these dens become the school-rooms where the guiding morals of a life are picked up ; and so precocious are the little things, that the girl of nme will, from constant attendance at such places, have learnt to understand the filthi- est sayings, and laugh at them as loudly as the grown-up lads around her. What notions can the yoimg female form of marriage and chastity, when the penny theatre rings with applause at the performance of a scene whose sole point turns upon the pantomimic imitation of the un- restrained indulgence of tlie most corrupt appe- tites of our nature ? How can the lad learn to check his hot passions and think honesty and virtue admirable, when tlie shouts around him impart a glory to a descriptive song so painfully corrupt, 3ial it can only have been made tole- rable by the most habitual excess ? The men who preside over these infamous places know too well the failings of their audiences. They know that these poor children require no nicely- turned joke to make the evening pass merrily, and that the filth they utter needs no double meaning to veil its obscenity. The show that will provide the most unrestrained debauchery will have the most crowded benches; and to gain this point, things are acted and spoken that it is criminal even to allude to. Not wishing to believe in the description which some of the more intelligent of the cos- termongers had g^ven of these places, it was thought better to visit one of them, so that all exaggeration might be avoided. One of the least offensive of the exhibitions was fixed upon. The " penny gaff"" chosen was situated in a broad street near Smithfield; and for a great distance off*, the jingling sound of music was heard, and the gas-light streamed out into the thick night air as from a dark lantern, glitter- ing on the windows of the houses opposite, and lighting up the faces ol the mob m the road, as on an illumination night The front of a large shop had been entirely removed, and the entrance was decorated with paintings of the " comic singers," in their most "humourous" attitudes. On a table against the wall was perched the band, playing what the costers call " dancing times" with great effect, for the hole at the money-taker's box Was blocked up with hands tendering the penny. The crowd with- out was so numerous, that a policeman was in attendance to preserve order, and push the boys off* the pavement — the music having the effect of drawing them insensibly towards the festooned green-baize curtain. The shop itself had been turned into a waiting-room, and was crowded even to the top of the stairs leading to the gallery on the first floor. The ceiling of this " lobby" was painted blue, and spotted with whitewash clouds, to re- present the heavens; the boards of the trap- door, and the laths that showed through the holes in the plaster, being all of the same colour. A notice was here posted, over the canvass door leading into the theatre, to the effect that " Ladies and Gentlemen to the FRONT PLACES MUST PAY TwOPENCE." The visitors, with a few exceptions, were all boys and girls, whose ages seemed to vary firom eight to twenty years. Some of the girls — tiiough their figures showed them to be mere children — were dressed in showy cotton-velvet polkas, and wore dowdy feathers in their crushed bonnets. They stood laughing and joking with the lads, in an unconcerned, impudent manner, that was almost appalling. Some of them, when tired of waiting, chose their partners, and commenced dancing grotesquely, to the admiration of the lookers-on, who expressed their approbation in obscene terms, that, far from disgusting the poor little women, were received as compliments, and acknowledged with smiles and coarse repar- tees. The boys clustered together, smoking their Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOH. 41 pipes, and laughing at each other's anecdotes, or else jingling hal^nce in time with the tune, while they whistled an accompaniment to it Presently one of the performers, with a gilt crown on his well greased locks, descended from the staircase, his fleshings covered by a dingy dressing-gown, and mixed with the mob, shaking hands with old acquaintances. The *' comic anger," too, made his appearance among the throng — the huge bow to his cravat, which nearly covered his waistcoat, and the red end to his nose, exciting neither merriment nor sur- prise. To discover the kind of entertainment, a lad near me and my companion was asked "if there was any flash dancmg." With a knowing wink the boy answered, ** Lots ! show their legs and all, prime 1 •' and immediately the boy fol- lowed up his information by a request for a " yennep" to get a "tib of occabot." After wait- ing in the lobby some considerable time, the performance inside was concluded, and the au- dience came pouring out through the canvass door. As they had to pass singly, I noticed them particularly. Above three - fourths of them were women and girls, the rest consisting chiefly of mere boys — for out of about two hundred persons I counted only eighteen men. Forward they came, bringing an overpowering stench with them, laughing and yelling as they pushed their way through the waiting- room. One woman carrying a sickly child with a bulging forehead, was reeling drunk, the saliva running down her mouth as she stared about her with a heavy fixed eye. Two boys were pushing her from side to side, while the poor infant slept, breathing heavily, as if stupi- fied, through the din. Lads jumping on girls' shoulders, and girls laughing hysterically from being tickled by the youths behind them, every one shouting and jumping, presented a mad scene of frightfril ei\joyment When these ^had left, a rush for places by those in waiting began, that set at defiance the blows and strugglings of a lady in spangles who endeavoured to preserve order and take the checks. As time was a great object with the proprietor, the entertainment within began directly the first seat was taken, so that the lads without, rendered furious by the rattling of the piano within, made the canvass partition bulge in and out, with the strugglings of those seeBng admission, like a sail in a flagging wind. • To form the theatre, the first floor had been removed ; the whitewashed beams however still stretched from wall to wall. The lower room had evidently been the warehouse, while the upper apartment had been the sitting-room, for the paper was still on the walls. A gallery, with a canvass front, had been hurriedly built up, and it was so fragile that the boards bent under the weight of those above. The bricks in the warehouse were smeared over with red paint, and had a few black curtains daubed upon them. The co«»*»r-vouth8 require no very great scenic embellishment, and indeed the stage — which vf^fi about eight feet square — coi3d admit of none. Two jets of gas, like those outside a butcher's shop, were placed on each side of the proscenium, and proved very handy for the gentlemen whose pipes required lighting. The band inside the " theatre " could not compare with the band without An old gran^ piano, whose canvass -covered top extended the entire length of the stage, sent forth its wiry notes under the be-ringed fingers of a " professor Wilkinsini," while an- other professional, with his head resting on his violin, played vigorously, as he stared uncon- cernedly at the noisy audience. Singing and dancing formed the whole of the hours' performance, and, of the two, the smging was preferred. A young girl, of about fourteen years of age, danced with more energy than grace, and seemed to be well-known to the spectators, who cheered her on by her Christian name. When the dance was concluded, the proprietor of the establishment threw down a penny frt>m the gallery, in the hopes that others might be moved to similar acts of generosity; but no one followed up the offer- ing, so ihe young lady hunted after the money and departed. The " comic singer," in a battered hat and the hu^e bow to his cravat, was received witli deafemng shouts. Several songs were named by the costers, but the *' funny gentleman " merely requested them " to hold their jaws," and putting on a ** knowinpp" look, sang a song, the whole point of which consisted in the mere utterance of some filthy word at the end of each stanza. Nothing, how- ever, could have been more successful. The lads stamped their feet with delight; the girls screamed with enjoyment Once or twice a young shrill laugh would anticipate the ftm—as if the words were well known— or the boys would forestall the point by shouting it out before the proper time. When the song was ended the house was in a delirium of applause. The canvass fix)nt to the gallery was beaten with sticks, drum-like, and sent down showers of white powder on the heads in the pit Another song followed, and the actor knowing on what his success depended, lost no opportunity of in- creasing his laurels. The most obscene thoughts, the most disgusting scenes were coolly descnbed, making a poor cWld near me wipe away the tears ttiat rolled down her eyes with the enjoy- ment of the poison. There were three or four of these songs sung in the course of the evening, each one being encored, and then changed. One written about " Pine-apple rock," was the grand treat of the night, and offered greater scope to the rhyming powers of the author than any of the others. In this, not a single chance had been missed; ingenuity had been exerted to its utmost lest an obscene thought should be passed by, and it was absolutdy awful to behold the reUsh with which the young ones jumped to the hideous meamng of the verses. Digitized by Google 42 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, There was one scene yet to come, that vrae perfect in its wickedness. A«hallet b^an be- tween a man dressed up as a woman, and a country clown. The most disgusting attitudes were struck, the most immoral acts represented, without one dissenting voice. If there had been any feat of agility, any grimacing, or, in fact, anytlung with which the laughter of the unedu- cated classes is usually associated, the applause might have been accoimted for ; but here were two ruffians degradinff themselves each time they stirred a limb, and forcing into the brains of the childish audience before them thoughts that must embitter a lifetime, and descend from father to child like some bodily infirmity. When I had left, I spoke to a better class costermonger on this saddening subject. " Well, sir, it is frightful," he said, " but the boys will have their amusements. If their amusements is bad they don't care ; they only wants to laugh, and this here kind of work does it Give 'em better singing and better dancing, and they'd go, if the price was as cheap as this is. I've seen, when a decent concert was given at a penny, as many as four thousand costers present, behaving themselves as quietlv and decently as possible. Their wives and children was with 'em, and no audience was better conducted. It's all stuff talking about them preferring this sort of thing. Give 'em good things at the same price, and I know they will like the good, better than the bad." My own experience with this neglected class goes to prove, that if we would really lift them out of the moral mire in which they arc wallow- ing, the first step must be to provide them with wholesome amusements. The misforttine, how- ever, is, that when we seek -to elevate the cha- racter of the people, we give them such mere dry abstract truths and dogmas to digest, that the uneducated mind turns with abhorrence from them. We forget how we ourselves were origi- nally won by our emotUms to the considcratwn of Such subjects. We do not remember how our own tastes have been formed, nor do we, in onr zeal, stay to reflect how the tastes of a people generally arfe created; and, consequently, we cannot perceive that a habit of enjoying any matter whatsoever can only be induced in the mind by linking with it some sesthetic afl^ction. The heart is the mainspring of the intellect, and the feelings the real educers and educators of the thoughts. As games with the j'oung destroy the fatigue of muscular e^cercise, so do the sympa- thies stir the mhid to action without any sense ofeflbrt It is because "serious" people gene- rally object to enlist the emotions in the educa- tion of the poor, and look upon the delight which arises in the mind from the mere perception of the beauty of sound, motion, form, and colour — or from the apt association of harmonious or incongruous ideas — or from the sympathetic operation of the afi^tions ; it is because, I say, the zealous portion of society look upon these matters as " vau'Ufj," that the amusements of tlie working-classes are left to venal traders to pro- vide. Hence, in tlie low-priced entertainment* which necessarily appeal to the poorer, and, therefore, to the least educated bf the people, the proprietors, instead of trying to develop in them the purer sources of delight, seek only to gratify their audience in the coarsest manner, by appealing to their most brutal appetites. And thus the emotions, wliich the great Architect of the human mind gave us as the means of quick- ening our imaginations and refining Our senti- ments, are made the instruments of crushing every operation of the intellect and debasing our natures. It is idle and unfeeling to believe that the great majority of a people whose days are passed in excessive toil, and whose homes are mosUy of an uninviting character, -will forego all amusements, and consent to pass their evenings by their no firesides, reading tracts or singing hymns. It is folly to fancy fiat the mind, spent with the irksomcness of compelled labour, and depressed, perhaps, with the struggle to live by tliat labour after all, will not, when the work is over, seek out some place where at least it can forget its troubles or fatigues in the temporary pleasure begotten by some mental or physical stimulant. It is because we exact too much of the poor — because we, as it were, strive to make true knowledge and true beauty as forbidding as possible to the uneducated and imrefiiied, tliat they fly to their penny gaffi, their twopenny- hops, their beer-shops, and their gambling- gi'ounds fbr pleasures which we deny them, and which we, in our arrogance, believe it is possible for them to do without The experiment so successfully tried at Liverpool of ftirnishing music of an enlivening and yet elevating character at the same price as the concerts of the lowest grade, shows that the people may be won to delight in beauty instead of beastiality, and teaches us a^ain that it is our fault to allow them to be as they are and not their* s to remain so. All men are compound animals, with many inlets of pleasure to their brains, and if one avenue be closed against them, why it but forces them to seek delight through another. So far from the perception of beauty inducing habits of gross enjoyment as " serious " people generally imagine, a mo- ment's reflection will tell us that these very habits are only the necessary consequences of the non- development of the a?sthetic faculty; for the two assuredly cannot co-exist To culti- vate the sense of the beautiful ;s necessarily to inculcate a detestation of the sensual. Moreover, it is impossible for the mind to be accustomed to the contemplation of what is admirable without continually mounting to higher and higher forms of it — from the beauty of nature to that of thought— from thought to feeling, from feeling to action, and lastly to the fountain of all goodness — the great munificent Creator of the sea^ the moiwtains, and the flowers — the stars, the sunshine, and the rahibow— the fancy, the reason, the love and the heroism of man and womankind — the instincts of the beasts — the glory of the angels— and the mercy of Christ Digitized by Google LONDON L4B0UR AND THE IQNDON POQR, 43 Op the C08TER-0|III.8. Tub costermongers, taken as a body, ^n^^rUin the most iinpenect idea of the s^ncti^ of mar- riage. To ^heir undeveloped i^if^ds it merely consists in the fac( of 4 in^P fuid womfin living together! and sharing (he gains they m»y e^ch ei^rn by selling i^ pie street The £»ther and mother of (he girl look upon it as a convenient means of shifting the support of their ehild over to another'^ ^xertion^; and so thoroughly do they believe (liis to be th^ end and ftipi of matrimony, that the expense of i^ churoh cere- mony is considered us a useless waste of money, and the new pair are received by their (lom- panions as cordially as ijf every fprm of law And religion had been complied with* The notions of morality among these people agree strangely, a* J have said, with those of Tuany savage tribes — Indeed, jt would b^ eurious if it were otherwise. They are ^ purt of the Nomades of England, ncithpr knowing nor caring for the enjoyments of home. Tb^ hpsrth, which is so sacred a symbol to nil civilised races as being the spot where the virtues of each sue ceeding generation are taught and encouraged, has no charms to them- The tap-room is the father's chief abiding place; whilst to the mother the house is only a better kind of tent. She is away at the stall, or hawking her goods from morning till night, while the cJUWren are left to play away the day in the court or alley, and pick their morals out of the gutter. So long as the limbs gain strength the parent cares for nothing else. As the young ones grqw up, theb only notions of wrong are fonned by what tlie policeman will permit them to do. If we, who have known ^om babyhood the kindly i}i4uence8 of a home, require, before we are thrust out into the world to get a living for our« selves, that our perceptions of good and evil should be quickened and brightened (the same 43 our perceptions of truth and falsity) by the experience and counsel of those who are wiser and bett^ than ourselves, — if, indeed, it needed a special creation and example to teach the best and strongest of us the law of right, how bitterly n)ttst the children of the street-folk require tui- tion, training, and advice, when from their verv cradles (if^ indeed, they ever knew such luxuries) they are doomed le witness in theiv parents, whom they naturally believe to be their supe- rior!, habits of life in which passion is the sole rule of action, and where every appetite of our animal nature is indulged in without the least restraint. I »ay thus much because I ^m anxious to make others feel, as I do myself, that we are the culpable parties in these matters. That they poor things slu>uld do as they do is but human nature—but that w$ should allow them lo remain thus destitute of every blessing vouchsafed to ourselves— that we should wil- lingly share what we enjoy with our brethren at the Antipodes, and yet leave those who are nearer and who, therefore, should be dearer to U^ €0 want even the commonest moral neces- saries is a paradox that gives to the zeal of our Christiauity a stro^ig savour of ^he chicanery of Cant. The costermongers strongly resemble the North American Indians ii^ their conduct to their wives. They can understand that it is the duty of the woman to contribute to the happi- ness of the m^Di but cannot feel that there is a reciprocal duty from ^he u^au to the woman. The wife is co^i^sidered as aii inexpensive servant, and tbe disobedience of a wish is punished witli blows. She must wor^c early and late, ^nd to the husband must be given the proceeds of her labour. Often wben the man is in one of his dnml^eP ^ts — which sometimes last (wo or threo days eontinuously — she must by her sole ex- ertions %)d food for herself and him too. To live in peape with him, there must be no mur- muring* nq tiring under work, no foncied cause for jealousy — for |f there be, she is either beaten into submission or cast adrift to begin life again — ;^8 another's leavings, The story of one coster girl's life may be taken as a type of the many- When quite young sjie iQ placed out ^0 nurse with some neighbour, the mother — if a fond one — visiting the child at certain periods of the d^y, for the piirpose of feeding jt, or sometimes, knowing the roimd she has to make, haWflg the infant brought to her at pertain places, to be " suckled." As soon as it is old enough to go <»lone, the court is its play -ground, the gutter its lehool-room, and under the care of an elder sister the little one passes the day, among children whose mothers like her own are too busy out in the streets h#'p- iugto gpt the food, to be able to mind the family at home. W^tn the girl is strong enough, she in her turn is made to assist the mother by keeping guard over the younger children, or, if there be none, she is lent out to carry about a baby, and so made to add to the family income by gaining her sixpence weekly. Her time is from the evliesl years fUlly occupied ; indeed, her parents canpot afford to keep her without doing and getting something. Very few of the children receive the least education. "The parents," I am told, ''never give their minds to feaming, for tjjey si>y, * What's the use of it ? timt won't yarn a |al a living.' " Everytlung is sacrificed— as, inaeed, under the circumstances it must be— in the struggle to live— aye ! imd to live merely. Mindi heart, soul, are all absorbed in tb6 belly. The rudest form of animal life, phy»ologist8 tell us, is simply a locomotive stomach. Verily, it would appear as if our social state had a tendency to make the highest apimal sink into the lowest At about sevei^ years of age the girls first go into the streets to sell. A shallow -basket is given to them, with about two shillings for stock- money, and they hawk, according to tlie time of year, either oranges, apples, or violeU; some begin their strieet education with the sale of water-cresses. The mof^y earned by this means if Btrietly given to the parents. Sometimes- Digitized by Google 44 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. though rarely — a eirl who has heen unfortunate during the day will not dare to return home at night, and then she will sleep under some dry arch or ahout some market, until the morrow's gains shall ensure her a safe reception and shelter in her father's room. The life of the coster-girls is as severe as that of the boys. Between four and five in the morning they have to leave home for the mar- kets, and sell in the streets until about nine. Those that have more kindly parents, return then to breakfast, but many are obliged to earn the morning's meal for themselves. After break- fast, they generally remain in the streets until about ten o'clock at night ; many having nothing during all that time but one meal of bread and butter and cofiee, to enable them to support the fatigue of walking from street to staeet with the heavy basket on their heads. In the course of a day, some girls eat as much as a pound of bread, and very seldom get any meat, unless it be on a Sunday. There are many poor families that, without the aid of these girls, would be forced into the workhouse. They are generally of an afilection- ate disposition, and some will perform acts of marvellous heroism to keep together the little home. It is not at all unusutd for mere chil- dren of fifteen to walk their eight or ten miles a day, carrying a basket of nearly two hundred weight on their heads. A journey to Woolwich and back, or to the towns near London, is often imdertaken to earn the Is. 6tL their parents are anxiously waiting for at home. Very few of Uiese girls are married to the men they afterwards live with. Their courtship is usually a very short one ; for, as one told me, ** the life is such a hard one, that a girl is ready to get rid of a little of the labour at any price." The coster-lads see the girls at market, and if one of them be pretty, and a boy take a &ncy to her, he will make her bargains for her, and carry her basket home. Sometimes a coster working his rounds will feel a liking for a wench selling her goods in the street, and will leave his barrow to go and talk with her. A girl seldom takes up with a lad before she is sixteen, though some of them, when barely fifteen or even fourteen, will pair off. They court for a time, going to raffles and ** gafi&" together, and then &e afi^ur is arranged. The girl tells her parents " she's going to keep company with so-and-so," packs up what things she has, and goes at once, without a word of remonstrance nrom either father or mother. A famished room, at about 4«. a week, is taken, and the young couple begin life. The lad goes out as usual with his barrow, and the girl goes out with her basket, often working harder for her lover than she had done for her parents. They ry to market together, and at about nine o'clock ler day's selling begins. Very often she will take out with her in the morning what food she requires during the day, and never return home until eleven o'clock at night The men generally behave very cruelly to t the girls they live with. They are as faithful to them as if they were married, but they are jealoiu' in the extreme. To see a man talking to their girl is sufficient to ensure the poor thing a beating. They sometimes ill-treat them horribly — most mimercifuUy indeed — nevertheless Uie girls say they cannot help loving them still, and continue working for them, as if they experienced only kindness at their hands. Some of the men are gentler and more considerate in their treatment of them, but by far the larger portion are harsh and merciless. Often when the Saturday night's earnings of the two have been large, tlie man will take the entire money, and as soon as the Sunday's dinner is over, commence drinking hard, and continue drunk for two or three days together, until the funds are entirely exhausted. The women never gamble ; they say, " it gfives them no excitement" They prefer, if they have a spare moment in the evening, sitting near the fire making up and patching their clothes. " Ah, sir," said a girl to me, " a neat gown does a deal with a man ; he always likes a girl best when everybody else likes her too." On a Sunday they clean their room for the week and go for a treat, if they can persuade their young man to take them out in the after- noon, either to Chalk Farm or Battersea Fields — " where there's plenty of life." After a girl has once grown accustomed to a street-life, it is almost impossible to wean her from it The muscular irritability begotten by continued wandering makes her unable to rest for any time in one place, and she soon, if put to any settled occupation, gets to crave for the severe exercise she formerly enjoyed. The least restraint will make her sigh after the perfect liberty of the coster's " roving life." As an instance of this I may relate a fact that has occurred within the last six months. A gentleman of high literary repute, struck with the heroic strugglings of a coster Irish girl to maintain her mother, took her to his house, with a view of teaching her the duties of a servant. At first the transition was a painfUl one to the poor thing. Having travelled bare- foot through the streets since a mere child, the pressure of shoes was intolerable to her, and in the evening or whenever a few minutes' rest could be obtained, the boots were taken ofi) for with them on she could enjoy no ease. The perfect change of life, and the novelty of being m a new place, reconciled her for some time to the loss of her liberty. But no sooner did she hear from her friends, that sprats were again in the market, than, as if &iere were some magical influence in the fish, she at once requested to be freed from the confinement, and permitted to return to her old calling. Such is the history of the lower class of girls, though this lower class, I regret to say, consti- tutes by far the greater portion of the whole. Still I would not for a moment have it inferred that all are bad. There are many young gfirls getting their living, or rather helping to get Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON FOOH, ^ the living of othere in the streets, whose good- ness, considering the temptations and hardships besetting such* an occupationi approximates to tlie marvellous. As a type of the more pru- dent class of coster girls, I would cite the following narrative received from the lips of a young woman in answer to a series of questions. The > Life of a Coster Girl. I wished to have obtained a statement from the girl whose portrait is here given, but she was afraid to give the slightest information about the habits of her companions, list they should recognize her by the engraving and per- secute her for the revelations she might make. After disappointing me some dozen times, I was forced to seek out some other coster girL The one I fixed upon was a fine-grown young woman of eighteen. She had a h^^it of curtsying to every question that was put to her. Her plaid shawl was tied over the breast, and her cotton- velvet bonnet was crushed in with carrying her basket She seemed dreadfully puzzled where to put her hands, at one time tucking them under her shawl, warming them at the fire, or measuring the length of her apron, and when she answered a question she invariably addressed the fireplace. Her voice was husky ttom shout- mg apples. ** My mother has been in the streets selling all her lifetime. Her uncle learnt her the markets and she learnt me. When business grew bad she said to me, ' Now you shall take care on the stall, and I'll go and work out charing.* The way she learnt me the markets was to judge of the weight of the baskets of apples, and then said she, ' Always bate 'em down, a'most a half.' I always liked the street-life very weU, that was if I was selling. I have mostly kept a stall myself, but I've known gals as walk about with apples, as liave told me that the weight of the baskets is sich that the neck cricks, and when the load is took off, its just as if you''d a stiff neck, and the head feels as light as a feather. The gals begins working very early at our work ; the parents makes them go out when a'most babies. There's a little gal, I'm sure she an't more than half-past seven, that stands selling water-cresses next my stall, and mother was saying, * Only look there, how that little one has to get her living afore she a'most knows what a penn'orth means.' *' There 's six on us in family, and father and mother makes eight. Father used to do odd jobs with the gas- pipes in the streets, and when work was slack we had very hard times of it Mother always liked being vrith u«) at home, and used to manage to keep us employed out of mischief — she'd give us an old gown to make into pinafores for the children and such like! She's been very good to us, has mother, and so's father. She always liked to hear us read to her whilst she was washing or such like ! and then we big ones had ta learn the UttL; ones. But when Other's work got slack, if she had no employment charing, she'd say, * Now I'll go and buy a bushel of apples,' and then she'd turn out and get a penny that way. I suppose by sitting at ^e staU from nine in the morning till the shops shuts up — say ten o'clock at night, I can earn about U. oJ. a day. It's all according to the apples — whether they're good or not — what we makes. If I 'm unlucky, mother will say, * Well, I'll go out to-morrow and see what I can do ;* and if I've done well, she'll say * Come you're a good hand at it ; you've done famous.' Yes, mother's very fair that way. Ah ! there's many a gal I knows whose back has to suffer if she don't sell her stock well; but, thank God !^ I never get more than a blowing up. My' parents is very fair to me. " I dare say there ain't ten out of a hundred gals what's living with men, what's been married Church of England fashion. I know plenty myself, but I don't, indeed, think it right It seems to me that the gals is fools to be 'ticed away, but, in coorse, Uiey needn't go without they likes. This isvwhy I don't think it's right Perhaps a man will have a few words with his gal, and he'll say, * Oh ! I ain't obligated to keep her !' and he'll turn her out : and then where 's that poor gal to go ? Now, there 's a gal I knows as came to me no later than this here week, and she had a dreadful swole face and a awful black eye ; and I says, ' Who's done that?' and she says, says she, * Why, Jack'— just in that way j and then she says, says she, * I 'm going to take a warrant out to-morrow.' Well, he gets the warrant that same night, but she never appears again him, for • fear of getting more beatmg. That don' t seem to me to be like married people ought to be. Be- sides, if parties is married, they ought to bend to each other ; and they won't, for sartain, if tliey 're only living together. A man as is married is obligated to keep his wife if they quarrels or not ; and he says to himself, says he, * Well, I may as well live happy, like.' But if he can turn a poor gal off, as soon as he tires of her, he begins to have noises with her, and then gets quit of her altogether. Again, the men takes the money of the gals, and in coorse ought to treat 'em well — which they don' t This is another reason : when the gal is in the family way, the lads mostly sends them to the workhouse to lay in, and qnly goes sometimes to take them a bit of tea and shuggar; but, in coorse, married men wouldn't behave in such likes to their poor wives. After a quarrel, too, a lad goes and takes up with another young gal, and that isn't pleasant for the first one. The first step to ruin is them places of 'penny gaffs,' for they hears things there as oughtn't to be said to young gals. Besides, the lads is very insinivadiip;, and after leaving them places will give a gal a drop of beer, and make her half tipsy, and then they makes their arrangements. I've often heerd the boys boasting of bavins ruined gals, for all the world as if they was Uie first noblemen in the land. *' It would be a good thing if these sort of goings on could be stopped. Il*s half the pa- 1 Digitized by V^OOQIC 46 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, renta' fault ; for if a gal can't get a living, they turns her out into the streets, and then what's to become of her T I'm sure the gals, if they was married, would be happier, because they couldn't be beat worse. And if they was married, they'd get a nice home about 'em j whereas, if they's only living together, they takes a furnished room. I'm sure, too, that it's a bad plan; for I've heerd the gals themselves say, * Ah I I wish I'd never seed Jack' (or Tom, or whatever it is); *I*m sure I'd never be half so bad but for him.' "Only last night father was talking about religion. We often talks about religion. Father * has told me that God made the world, and I've heerd him talk about the first man and woman as was made and lived — it must be more than a hundred years ago—but I don't like to speak on what I don't know. Father, too, has told me about our Saviour what was nailed on a cross to suflfer for such poor people as we is. Father has told us, too, about his giving a great many poor people a penny loaf and a bit of fish each, which proves him to have been a very kind gen- tleman. The Ten Commandments was made by him, I've heerd say, and he performed them too among other miracles. Yes! this is part of what our Saviour tells us. We are to forgive everybody, and do nobody no injury. I don't think I could forgive an enemy if she injured me very much; I'm sure I don't know why I couldn't, unless it is that I'm poor, and never learnt to do it. If a gal stole my shawl and , didn't return it back or give me the value on it, I couldn't forgive her ; out if she told me she lost it off her back, I shouldn't be so hard on her. We poor gals ain't very religious, but we are better than the men. We all of us thanks God for everything — even for a fine day ; as for sprats, we always says they're God's bles- sing for the poor, and thinks it hard of the Lord Mayor not to let 'em come in afore the ninth of November, just because he wants to dine off them — which he always do. Yes, we kjiows for certain that they eats plenty of sprats at the Lord Mayor's * blanket' They say in the Bible that the world was made in six days : the beasts, the birds, the fish, and all— and sprats was among them in coorse. There was only one house at that time aa was made, and that was the Ark for Adam and Eve and their family. It seems very wonderful indeed how all this world was done so quick. I should have thought that England alone would have took double the time ; wouldn't you, sir ? But then it says in the Bible, God Almighty's a just and true God, and in coorse time would be nothing to him. When a good person is dying, we says, * Tlie Lord has called upon him, and he must p[o,' but I can't tliink what it means, unless It is that an angel comes— like when we're a- dreaming— and tells the party he's wanted in heaven. I know where heaven is ; it's above the clouds, and they're placed there to prevent us seeing into it That's where all the good people go, but I'm afeerd," — she continued solemnly— " there's very few costers among the angels — 'specially those as deceives poor gals. " No, I don't think this world could well go on for ever. There's a great deal of ground in it, certainly, and it seems very strong at present; hut they say there's to be a fiood on the earth, and earUiquakes, and that will destroy it The earthquake ought to have'took place some time ago, as people tells me, but I never heerd any more about it If we cheats in the streets, I know we shan't go to Hoaven; but it's veiy hard upon us, for if we didn't cheat we couldn't live, profits is so bad. It's the same with the shops, ahd I suppose the yotmg men there won't go to Heaven neither; but if people won't give the money, both costers and tradesmen must cheat, and that's very hard. Why, look at apples! customers want them for less than tliey cost us, and so we are forced to shove in bad ones as wo^ as good ones ; and if we're to suffer for that, it does seem to me dreadful cruel." Curious and extravagant as this statement may perhaps appear to the ;ininitiated, never- theless it is here given as it was spoken ; and it was spoken with an earnestness that proved the poor girl looked upon it as a subject, the solem- nity Si which forced her to be truthfuL Of Costermongers and Thieves. Concern INQ the connection of these two classes I had the following account from a costermonger : "I've known the coster trade for twelve years, and never knew thieves go out a costering as a cloak; they may have done so, but I very much doubt it lliieves go for an idle life; and costermongering don't suit them. Our chaps don't care a d — n who they associate with, — if they're thieves they meet 'em all the same, or anytliing that way. But costers buy what they call * a gifl,' — may- be it's a watch or coat wot's been stmen — from any that has it to sell. A man will say : * If you've a few shillings, you may make a good thing of it Why this iden- tical watch is only twenty shillings, and it's worth fifty ;' so if the coster has money, he buys. Thieves will get 3<^. where a mechanic or a cos- ter will earn |rf., and the most ignorant of our people has a queer sort of respect for thieves, because of the money they make. Poverty's as much despised among costers as among other people. People that's badly off among us are called 'cursed.' In bad weather it's common for costers to 'curse themselves,' as they call having no trade. * Well, I'm cursed,* they say when they can make no money. It's a common thing among them to shout after any one they don't like, that's reduced, *Well, ain't you cursed ! " ' The costers, I am credibly informed, gamble a great deal with the wealthier class of thieves, and win of them the greater part of the money they get Of the more provident Costermonqers. Concerning this head, I give the statement of a man whdse infonnation I found fully con- Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. 47 firmed ; — " We are not such a degraded set as some believe ; sir, but a living doesn't tumble into a man's mouth, now a days. A good many of us costers rises into greengrocers and coal-sheds, and still carries on their rounds as costers, all the same, Why, in Lock's- fields, I could show you twenty such, and you'd find them very decent men, sir—very. There's one man I know, that's risen that way, who is worth Imndreds of pounds, and keeps his horse and cart like a gentleman. They rises to be voters, and they all vote liberal. Some marry the better kind of 8er\ants, — such servant-maids as would' nt marry a rag and bottle shop, but doesn't object to a coal shed. Jt's mostly yoimger men that manages this. As far as I have observed, these costers, after they has settled and got to be housekeepers, don't turn their backs on their old mates. They' 4 have a m*ce life of it if they did — yes ! a very nice life." Of thb Homes op ti|e Costermonqers. The costermongers usually reside in the courts and alleys in the neighbourhood of the different street-markets. They themselves designate the locality where, so to speak, a colony of their people has been established, a ** coster district," and the entire uietropolis is thus parcelled out, almost as systematically as if for the purposes of registration. These coRtermonger districts are as follows, and are here placed in the order of the numerical importance of the residents ; RatcHtTe Highway. I^iiiton^ffrove, Petticoat and Xloseraary- lane. Marylebone-lane. Oxford-Btreet. Rgtherhitho, Deptford. Dockhead. Greenwich. Commercial- rosd (Eait). Poplar. J^imehouse. Bethnal-green. Hackney-road. Kingsland. Camdcu Town. The New Cut (Lambeth). Whitecrosg-street. Jieath^r-lane. The Brill, Somers' Town. Whitechapel. CamWrwell. Walworth. Peckham. Bermondsey. The Broadway, West- minster. Shoreditch. Paddington and Edge- ware Road. Tottenham-court Road. Drury-lane. Old-street Road. Clare Market. t The homes of the costennopgers in these places, may be divided into three classes ; firstly, those who, by having a regular trade or by pru- dent econoijiy, are enabled to live in compara- tive ease and plenty ; secondly, those who, from having a large family or by imprudent expendi- ture, are, as it were, struggling with the world ; and thirdly, those who for want of stock-money, or ill success in trade are nearly destitute. The first home I visited was that of an old woman, who with the assistance ff her son and girls, contrived to live in a most praiseworthy and comfortable manner, She and all her family were teetotallers, and may be taken as a fair type of the thriving costcnnonger. As I ascended a dark flight of stairs, a savory smell of stew grew stronger at each step J mounted. The woman lived in a large airy room on the first floor ("the drawing-room") as she told me laughing at her own joke), well lighted by a clean window, and I found her lajing out the savory smelling dimier looking most temptingly clean. The floor was as white as if it had been newly planed, the coke fire was bright and warm, making the lid of the tin saucepan on it rattle up and down as Uie steam rushed out. The wall over the fire-place was patched up to the ceiling with little square pictures of saints, and on the mantel-piece, between a row of bright tumblers and wine glasses filled with odds and ends, stood glazed crockeryware unagea of Prince Albert and M. Jullien. Against the walls, which were pajiered with "hangings" of four difierent patterns and coloiu's, were hung several warm sliawls, and in the band-box, which stood on the stained chest of drawers, you could tell that the Simday bonnet was stowed safely away fVom tlie dust. A tium-up bedstead thrown back, and covered witli a many-coloured patch-work quilt, stood opposite to a long dresser with its mugs and cups dangling from the hooks, and the clean blue plates and dishes ranged in order at the back. There were a few bushel baskets piled up in one corner, "but the apples smelt so," she said, "they left them in a stable at night." 3y the fire sat the woman's daughter, a pretty meek-faced gray-eyed girl of sixteen, who was home nursing" for a cold. " Steve" (her boy) I was iufonned, was out working. Witli his nelp, the woman assured me, she could live very comfortably — " God be praised ! " and when he got the barrow he was promised, she prave me to understand, that their riches were to increase past reckoning. Her girl too was to be ofi* at work as soon as sprats came in. " Its on Lord Mayor' s-day they comes in," said a neigh- bour who had rushed up to see tlie strajige gentleman, " they says he has 'cm on his table, but I never seed 'em. They never gives us the pieces, no not even the heads," and every one laughed to their utmost The good old dame was in high spirits, her dark eyes sparkling as she spoke about her " Steve." The daughter in a little time lost her bashfulness, and informed me "that one of the Polish refugees was a-courting Mrs, M, , who had given him a pair of black eyes." On taking my leave I was told by the mother that their silver gilt Dutch clock— with its glass face and blackleaded weights — "was the best one in London, and might be relied on with the greatest safety." As a specimen of the dwellings of the strug- gling costers, the following may be cited : The man, a tall, thick-built, almost good- looking fellow, with a large fur cap on his head, lived with his family in a front kitchen, and as there were, with his mother-in-law, five persons, and only one bed, I was somewhat puzzled to know where they could all sleep. The barrow standing on the railings over the window, half shut out the light, and when any one passed there was a momentary shadow thrown over the room, and a loud rattling of the Digitized by Google 48 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. iron gratings above that completely prevented all conversation. "When I entered, the mother- in-law was reading aloud one of the threepenny papers to her son, who lolled on the bed, that with its curtains nearly filled the room. There was the usual attempt to make the fireside com- fortable. The stone sides had been well whitened, and the mantel- piece decorated with its small tin trays, tumblers, and a piece of looking-glass, A cat with a kitten were seated on the hearth- rug in firont " They keeps the varmint away," said the woman, stroking the "puss," "and gives a look of home." By the drawers were piled up four bushel baskets, and in a dark comer near the bed stood a tall measure full of apples that scented the room. Over the head, on a string that stretched from wall to wall, dangled a couple of newly- washed shirts, and by the window were two stone barrels, for lemonade, when the coster visited (he fairs and races. Whilst we were talking, the man's little girl came home. For a poor man's child she was dressed to perfection; her pinafore was clean, her face shone with soap, and her tidy cotton print gown had clearly been newly put on that morning. She brought news that " Janey " was coming home from auntey's, and instantly a pink cotton dress was placed by the mother- in-law before the fire to air. (It appeared that Janey was out at service, and came home once a week to see her parents and take back a clean frock.) Although these people were living, so to speak, in a cellar, still every endeavour had been made to give the home a look of comfort The window, with its paper-patched panes, had a clean calico blind. The side-table was dressed up with yellow jugs and cups and saucers, and the band-boxes had been stowed away on the flat top of the bedstead. All the chairs, which were old fashioned mahogany ones, had sound backs and bottoms. Of the tliird class, or the very poor, I chose the following "type" out of the many others that presented themselves. The family here lived in a small slanting-roofed house, partly stripped of its tiles. More tlian one half of the small leaden squares of the first-floor window were covered with brown paper, puffing out and crackling in the wind, while through the greater part of the others were thrust out ball-shaped bundles of rags, to keep out the breeze. The panes that did remain were of all shapes and sizes, and at a distance had the appearance of yellow glass, they were so stained with dirt I opened a door with a number chalked on it, and groped my way up a broken tottering staircase. It took me some time after I had entered the apartment before I could get accustomed to the smoke, that came pouring into the room from the chimney. The place was filled with it, curling in the light, and making every thing so indistinct that I could witli difficulty see the white mugs ranged in the comer- cupboard, not three yards from n:e. When the wind was in the north, or when it rained, it was always that way, I was told, "but otherwise," said an old dame about sixty, with long grisly hair spread- ing over her black shawl, " it is pretty good for that." On a mattrass, on the floor, lay a pale-faced girl — " eighteen years old last twelfth- cake day" — her drawn-up form showing in the patch- work counterpane that covered her. She had just been confined, and the child had died ! A little straw, stuffed into an old tick, was all she had to lie upon, and even that had been given up to her by the mother until she was well enough to work again. To shield her from the light of the window, a cloak had been fastened up slantingly across the panes ; and on a string that ran along the wall was tied, amongst the bonnets, a clean nightcap — " against the doctor came," as the momer, curtsying, informed me. By the side of the bed, almost hidden in the dark shade, was a pile of sieve baskets, crowned by the flat shallow that the mother "worked" with. The room was about nine feet square, and furnished a home for three women. The ceiling slanted like that of a garret, and was the colour of old leather, excepting a few rough white patches, where the tenants had rudely mended it The white light was easily seen through the laths, and in one comer a large patch of the paper looped down from the wall. One night the family had been startled from their sleep by a large mass of mortar — just where the roof bulged in — felling into the room. " We never want rain water," the woman told me, " for we can catch plenty just over the chimney- place." They had made a carpet out of three or four old mats. They were " obligated to it, for fear of dropping anything through the boards into the donkey stables in the parlour underJJeath. But we only pay ninepence a week rent," said the old woman, " and mustn't grumble." The only omament in the place was on the mantel-piece — an old earthenware sugar-basin, well silvered over, tliat had been given by the eldest girl when she died, as a remembrance to her mother. Two cracked tea-cups, on their inverted saucers, stood on each side, and dressed up the fire-side into something like tidiness. ITie chair I sat on was by far the best out of the three in the room, and that had no back, and only half its quantity of straw. The parish, the old woman told me, allowed her 1«. a week and two loaves. But the doctor ordered her girl to take sago and milk, and she was many a time sorely puzzled to get it The neighbours helped her a good deal, and often sent her part of their unsold greens ; — even if it was only the outer leaves of me cabbages, she was thankful for them. Her other girl— a big- boned wench, #ith a red shawl crossed over her bosom, and her black hair parted on one side — did all she could, and so Uiey lived on. " As long as they kept out of the * big house ' (the workhouse) she would not complain." I never yet beheld so much destitution borne with so much content Verily the acted philosophy of the poor is a thing to make those who write and preach about it hide their heads. Digitized by Google LONDON LABOVR AND THE LONDON POOR. •19 THE OYSTER-STALL. ' Penny a lot, Oysters ! Tenny a lot ! " [Fiom a Diiguerreotjfpe by Beakd.] No. III. D Digitized by Google Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOH, 51 Op the Dress of the Costermonoers. From the homes of the costermongen we pass to a consideration of their dress. The costermonger's ordinary costume partakes of the durability of the warehouseman's, with the quaintness of that of the stable-boy. A well- to-do " coster," when dressed for the day's work, luually wears a small cloth cap, a little on one side. A close-fitting worsted tie-up skull-eap, is Tery fashionable, just now, among the class, and rinpflets at the temples are looked up to as the height of elegance. Hats they never wear— excepting on Sundav—on account of their baskets being frequently carried on their heads. Coats are seldom indulged in; their waistcoats, which are of a broad- ribbed corduroy, with fustian back and sleeves, being made as long as a groom's, and buttoned up nearly to the throat If the corduroy be of a light sandy colour, then plain brass, or sporting buttons, with raised fox's or stag's heads upon them-^^r else black bone-buttons, with a flower-pattem-^omament the front ; but if the cord be of a dark rat- skin hue, then mother-of- pearl buttons are preferred. Two large pockets — sometimes four — with huge flaps or lappels, like those in a shooting-coat, are commonly worn. If the costermonger be driving a good trade and have his set of regular customers, he will sport a blue cloth jacket, similar in cut to the cord ones above described} but this Ib looked upon as an extravagance of the highest order, for the slime and scales of the fish stick to the sleeves and shoulders of the garment, so as to spoil the appearance of it in a short time. The fashionable stuif for trousers, at the present, is a dark-coloured ** cable cord," and they are made to fit tightly at the knee and swell gradually until they reach the boot, which they nearly cover. Velveteen is now seldom worn, and knee- breeches are quite out of date. Those who deal wholly in fish wear a blue serge apron, either hanging down or tucked up round their waist. The costermonger, however, prides liimself most of all upon his neckerchief and boots. Men, wo- men, boys and girls, all have a passion for these articles. The man who does not wear his silk neckerchief — his " King's-man" as it is called — is known to be in desperate circumstances ; the inference being that it has gone to supply the morning's stock-money. A yellow flower on a green ground, or a red and blue pattern, is at present greatly in vogue, llie women wear their kerchiefiB tucked-in under their gowns, and the men have theirs wrapped loosely round the neck, with the ends hanging over their waistcoats. Even if a costermonger has two or three silk handkerchiefs by him a&eady, he sel- dom hesitates to buy another, when tempted with a bright showy pattern hanging firom a Field-lane door-post The costermonger's love of a good strong boot is a singular prejudice that runs throughout the whole class. From the father to the youngest child, all will be found well shod. So strong is their predilection in this respect, that a coster- monger may be immediately known by a glance at his feet He will part with everything rather than his boots, and to wear a pair of second- hand ones, or " translators' ' (as they are called), is felt as a bitter degradation by them alL Among the men, this pride has risen to such a pitch, that many will have their upper- leathers tastily ornamented, and it is not unconmoon to see the younger men of this class with a heart or a thistle, surrounded by a wreath of roses, worked below the instep, on their boots. The general costume of the women or girls is a black velveteen or straw bonnet, with a few ribbons or flowers, and almost always a net cap fitting closely to the cheek. The silk ** King's-man " covering their shoulders, is sometimes tucked into the neck of the printed cotton-gown, and sometimes the ends are brought down outside to the apron-strings. Silk ^'esses are never worn by them — they rather despise such arti- cles. The petticoats are worn short, ending at the ankles, just high enough to show the whole of the much-admired boots. Coloured, or " illustrated shirts," as they are called, are especially objected to by the men. On the Sunday no costermonger will, if he can possibly avoid it, wheel a barrow. If a shilling be an especial object to hhn, he may, perhaps, take his shallow and head-basket as far as Chalk-farm, or some neighbouring resort ; but even then he objects strongly to the Sun- day-trading. They leave this to the Jews and Irish, who are always willing to earn a penny — as they say. The prosperous coster toill have his holiday on the Sunday, and, if possible, his Sunday smt as well— which usually consists of a rough beaver hat, brown Petersham, with velvet facings of the same colour, and cloth trousers, with stripes down the side. The women, gene- rally, manage to keep by them a cotton gown of a bright showy pattern, and a new shawl. As one of the craft said to me — " Costers likes to see their vals and wives look lady-like when they takes them out" Such of the costers as are not in a flourishing way of business, sel- dom make any alteration in their dress on the Sunday. There are but five tailors in London who make the garb proper to costermongers ; one of these is considered somewhat " slop," or as a coster called him, a " springer-up." This springer-up is blamed by some of the costermongers, who condemn him for employ- ing women at reduced wages. A whole court of costermongers, I was assured, would withdraw their custom firom a tradesman, if one of their body, who had influence among them, showed that the tradesman was unjust to his workpeople. The tailor in question issues bills after the fol- lowing fashion. I give one verbatim, merely withholding the address for obvious reasons : ** ONCE try you'll COME AGAIN. Slap-up Tog and out-and-out Kicksiu Builder, Mr. nabs the chance of putting his cus- Digitized by Google 52 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, tomers awake, that he has just made hit escape from Russia, not forgetting to clap his mawleys upon some of the ri^t sort of Ducks, to make single and double backed Slops for gentlemen in black, when on his return home he was stimned to find one of the top manufacturers of Manchester had cut his lucky and stepped off to the Swan Stream, leaving behind him a valuable stock of Moleskins, Cords, Velre- teens. Plushes, Swandowns, &c., and I having some ready in my kick, grabbed the chance, and stepped home with my swag, and am now safe landed at my crib. I can turn out toggery of every description very slap up, at the fol- lowing low prices for Ready OUt-^Tick being no go. Upper Benjamins, built on a downey plan, a monarch to half a finnuff Slap up Velveteen Togs, lined with the same, 1 pound 1 quarter and a peg. Moleskin ditto, any colour, lined with the same, 1 couter. A pair of Kerseymere Kicksies, any colour, built very slap up, with the artful dodge, a canary. Pair of stout Cord ditto, built in the * Melton Mowbray' style, half a sov. Pair of very good broad Cord ditto, made very saucy, 9 bob and a kick. Pair of long sleeve Moleskin, all colours, built hanky-spanky, with a double fakement down the side and artfUl buttons at bottom, half a monasch. Pair of stout ditto, built very serious, 9 times. Pair of out- and-out fancy sleeve Kicksies, cut to drop dovm on the trotters, 2 bulls. Waist Togs, cut long, with moleskin back and sleeves, 10 peg. Blue Cloth ditto, cut slap, with pearl buttons, 14 peg. Mud Pipes, Knee Caps, and Trotter Cases, built very low. *' A decent allowance made to Seedy Swells, Tea Kettle Purgers, Head Robbers, and Flun- keys out of Collar. " N.B. Gentlemen finding their own Broady can be accommodated." Of tub Diet and Drink of Coster- mongers. It is less easy to describe the diet of coster- mongers than it is to describe that of many other of the labouring classes, for their diet, so to speak, is an " out-door diet" They break- fast at a coffee-stall, and (if all tlieir means have been expended in purchasing their stock, and none of it be yet sold) they expend on the meal only lA, reserved for the purpose. For this sum they can procure a small cup of cof- fee, and two " thin " (that is to say two thin slices of bread and butter). For dinner— which on a week-day is hardly ever eaten at the costermonger's abode — they buy "block ornaments," as they call the small, dark- coloured pieces of meat exposed on the cheap butchers' blocks or counters. These they cook in a tap-room; half a pound costing 2d, If time be an object, the coster huy a hot pie or two; preferring fruit-pies when in season, and. next to them meat-pies. " We never eat eel-pies," said one man to me, " because we know they're often made of large dead eels. We, of all people, are not to be had that wajr. But the hanstocrats eats 'em and never knows the difference." I did not hear that these men had any repugnance to meat-pies ; but the use of the dead eel happens to come within the im- mediate knowledge of the costermongers, who are, indeed, its purveyors. Saveloys, with a pint of beer, or a glass of " short " (neat gin) IS with them another common week-day dinner. The costers make all possible purchases of street-dealers, and pride themselves in thus "sticking to their own." On Sunday, the costermonp^r, when not "cracked up," enjoys a good dmner at his own abode. This is always a joint — most frequently a shoulder or half-shoulder of mutton — and invariably with "lots of good taturs baked along with it" In the quality of their potatoes these people are generally particular. The costermonger's usual beverage is beer, and many of them drink hard, having no other way of spaiding their leisure but in drinking and gambling. It is not unusual in "a good time," for a costermonger to spend I2s. out of every 20t. in beer and pleasure. I ought to add, that the " single fellows," instead of living on " block ornaments" and the like, live, when doing well, on the best fare, at the " spiciest " cook-shops on their rounds, or in the neighbourhood of their residence. There are some families of costermongers who have persevered in carrying out the principles of teetotalisnL One man thought there might be 200 individuals, including men, women, and children, who practised totol abstinence from intoxicating drinks. These parties are nearly all somewhat better off than their drinking com- panions. The number of teetotallers amongst the costers, however, was more numerous thi^e or four years back. Of the Cries, Rounds, and Days op Costermongers. I shall now proceed to treat of the London costermongers' mode of doing business. In the first place all the goods they sell are cried or "hawked," and the cries of the coster- moneers in the present day are as varied as the articles they sell The principal ones, uttered in a sort of cadence, are now, " Ni-ew mackerel, 6 a shilling." (" I've got a good jacketing many a Sunday momuig," said one dealer, " for waking people up with crying mackerel, but I've said, * I must live while you sleep.' ") " Buy a pair of live soles, 3 pair for 6d." — or, with a barrow, "Soles, Id, a pair. Id, a pair;" "Plaice alive, alive, cheap;" " Buy a pound crab, cheap;" "Pine-apples, Id. a slice;" "Mussels a penny a quart ; " " Oysters, a penny a lot ; " " Salmon alive, 6d. a pound;" "Cod alive, 2d, a pound ;" " Real Yarmouth bloaters, 2 a penny ;" " New herrings alive, 16 a groat" (this is the loudest cry of any); "Penny a bunch turnips" (the same with greens, cabbages, &c. ) ; " All new nuts, Id, half-pint ; " " Oranges, 2 a penny ; " " All large and alive-O, new sprats, O, Id, a plate ; " Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. 53 ''Wi-ild Hampshire rabbits, 2 a shilling;" '' Cheny ripe, 2d. a pound;" "Fine ripe plums, Id. a pint ; " " Ing-uns, a penny a quart ; " " Eels, 31bs. a shilling— large live eels 31bs. a shilling." The continual calling in the streets is very distressing to the voice. One man told me that it had broken his, and that very often while out he lost his voice altogether. " They seem to have no breath," the men say, "after calling for a little while." The repeated shouting brings on a hoarseness, which is one of the peculiar characteristics of hawkers in general. The costers mostly go out with a boy to cry their goods for them. If they have two or three halloo- ing together, it makes more noise than one, and the bojTs can shout better and louder than the men. The more noise they can make in a place the better they find their trade. Street- selling has been so bad lately that many have been obliged to have a drum for their bloaters, ** to drum the fish off," as they call it In the second place, the costermongers, as I said before, have mostly their little bit of a " round ;" that is, they go only to certain places; and if they don't seU their goods they " work back" the same way again. If they visit a respectable quarter, they confine themselves to the mews near the gentlemen's houses. They generally prefer the poorer neighbourhoods. They go down or through almost all the courts and alleys — and avoid tne better kind of streets, unless with lobsters, rabbits, or onions. If they have anything inferior, they visit the low Irish districts — for the Irish people, they say, want only quantity, and care notlung about quality — that they don't study. But u they have any- thing they wish to make a price of, they seek out the mews, and try to get it off among the gentlemen's coachmen, for they will have what is good ; or else they go among the residences of mechanics,— for their wives, they say, like good-living as well as the coachmen. Some costers, on the other hand, go chance rounds. Concerning the busiest days of the week for the coster's trade, they say Wednesdays and Fridays are the best, because they are regular fish days. These two days are considered to be those on which the poorer classes generally run short of money. Wednesday night is called '* draw night" among some mechanics and labourers —that is, they then get a portion of their wages in advance, and on Friday they run short as well as on the Wednesday, and have to make shift for their dinners. With the few halfpence they have left, they are glad to pick up anything cheap, and the street- fishmonger never refuses an offer. Besides, he can supply uem with a cheaper dinner than any other person. In the season the poor generally dine upon herrings. The poorer classes live mostly on fish, and the "dropped" and " rough " fish is bought chiefly for the poor. The fish-huckster has no respect for persons, however ; one assured me that if Prince Halbert was to stop him in the street to buy a pair of soles of him, he'd as soon sell him a " rough pair as any other man— indeed, I'd take in my own father," he added, "if he wanted to deal with me." Saturday is the worst day of all for fish, for then the poor people have scarcely anything at all to spend; Saturday night, however, the street- seller takes more money than at any other time in the week. Of the Costermomoers on their Country Rounds. Some costermongers go what they term "country rounds," and they speak of their country ex- peditions as if they were summer excursions of mere pleasure. They are generally variations from a life growing monotonous. It was com- puted for me that at present three out of every twenty costermongers " take a turn in the coun- try " at least once a year. Before the prevalence of railways twice as many of these men carried their speculations in fish> fhiit, or vegetables to a country mart Some did so well that they never returned to London. Two for instance, after a country round, settled at Salisbury; they are now regular shopkeepers, " and very respect- able, too," was said to me, " for I believe they are both pretty tidy off for money; and are growing rich." The railway communication supplies the local-d^er with fish, vegetables, or any perishable article, with such rapidity and cheapness that the London itinerant's occupation in the towns and villages about the metropolis is now half gone. In the following statement by a costermonger, the mode of life on a country round, is detailed with something of an assumption of metropolitan superiority. " It was fine times, sir, ten year back, aye, and five year back, in the country, and it ain't so bad now, if a man's known. It depends on that now fkr more than it did, and on a man's knowing how to work a village. Why, I can tell you if it wasn't for such as me, there's many a man working on a farm would never taste such a nice thing as a fresh herring — never, sir. It's a feast at a poor country labourer's place, when he springs six-penn'orth of fresh herrings, some for supper, and some in salt for next day. I've taken a shillings'-worth to a farmer's door of a darkish night in a cold autumn, and they'd a warm and good dish for supper, and looked on me as a sort of friend. We carry them relishes from London ; and they like London relishes, for we know how to set them off I've fresh herringed a whole village near Guildford, first thing in the morning. I've drummed round Guildford too, and done welL I've waked up Kingston with herrings. I've been as welcome as anything to the soldiers in the barracks at Brentwood, and Romford, and Maidstone with my fresh herrings ; for they're good customers. In two days I've made 2L out of lOs. worth of fresh herrings, bought at Billingsgate. I always lodse at a pubuc-house in the country ; so do all of us, for the publicans are customers. We are well received at the public-houses ; some of us go there for the handiness of the ' lush.* I've dcme Digitized by Google 54 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. pretty well with red herrings in the country. A barrel holds (say) 800. We bcU the barrels at 6d. a piece, and the old women fight after them. They pitch and tar them, to make water-barrels. More of us would settle in the country, only there's no life there." The most frequented round is from Lambeth to Wandsworth, Kingston, Richmond, Guildford, and Famham. The costermonger is then *' sold out," as he calls it, — he has disppsed of his stock, and returns by the way which is most lightly tolled, no matter if the saving of Id. or 2tf. entail some miles extra travelling. " It cost me I6d. for tolls from Guildford for an empty cart and donkey," Kiid a costermonger just up from the country. Another round is to Croydon, Reigate, and the neighbourhoods ; another to Edgeware, Kil- bum, Watford, and Bamet ; another to Maid- stone ; but the costermonger, if he starts trading at a distance, as he now does f^quently, has his barrow and goods sent down by railway to such towns as Maidstone, so he saves the delay and cost of a donkey-cart. A "mate" sees to the transmission of the goods from London, the owner walking to Maidstone to be in readiness to '* work" them inunediately he receives them. '* The railway's an ease and a saving," 1 was told ; " I've got a stock sent for 2«., and a don> key's keep would cost that for the time it would be in travelling. There's 5,000 of us, I think, might get a living in the country, if we stuck to it entirely." If the country enterprise be a failure, tlie men sometimes abandon it in ** a pet," sell their goods at any loss, and walk home, generally getting drunk as the first step to their return. Some have been known to pawn their barrow on the road for drink. This they call " doing queer." In summer the costcrmongers carry plums, peas, new potatoes, cucumbers, and quantities of pickling vegetables, especially green walnuts, to the country. In winter their commodities are onions, fresh and red herrings, and sprats. " I don't know how it is," said one man to me, " but we sell Ing-uns and all sorts of frxiits and vegetables, cheaper than they can buy them where they're |^own ; and green walnuts, too, when you'd thmk they had only to be knocked off a tree." Another costermonger told me that, in the country, he and his mates attended every dance or other amusement, "if it wasn't too respect- able." Another said: "If I'm idle in the country on a Sunday, I never go to church. I never was in a church ; I don't know why, for my silk handkerchiefs worth more than one of their smock-frocks, and is quite as respectable." Some costermongers confine their exertions to the fairs and races, and many of them are con- nected with the gipsies, who are said to be the usual receivers of the stolen handkerchiefs at such places. Op the Earnings op Costermongers. The earnings of the costermonger — the next subject of inquiry that, in due order, presents itself — vary as much as in more fashionable callings, for he is greatly dependent on tlie season, though he may be little affected by Lon- don being full or empty. Concurrent testimbny supplied me with the following estimate of their earnings. I cite the average earnings (apart from any charges or drawbacks), of the most staple commodities : In January and February the costers generally sell fish. In these months the wealthier of the street fishmongers, or those who can always com- mand "money to go to market," ei^oy a kind of monopoly. Tne wintry season renders the supply of fish dearer and less regular, so that the poorer dealers cannot buy " at first hand," and some- times cannot be supplied at all ; while the others monopolise the fish, more or less, and will not sell it to any of the other street-dealers until a profit has been realised out of their own regular customers, and the demand partially satisfied. " "VVhy, I've known one man sell 10/. worth of fish — most of it mackarel — at his stall in Whitecross-street," said a costermonger to me, " and all in one snowy day, in last January. It was very stormy at that time, and fish came in imregular, and he got a haul. I've known him sell 2/. worth in an hour, and once 21. lOs. worth, for I then helped at his stall. If people has dinner parties they must have fish, and gentlemen's servants came to buy. The average earnings however of those that "go rounds" in these months are computed not to exceed 8i. a week ; Monday and Saturday being days of little trade in fish. "March is dreadful," said an itinerant fish seller to me ; " we don't average, I'm satisfied, more nor 4*. a week. I've had my barrow idle for a week sometimes — at home every dav, though it had to be paid for, all the same. At the latter end of March, if it's fine, it's U. a week better, because there's flower roots in — ' all a-growing,' you know, sir. And that lasts until April, and we then make above 6*. a week. I've heard people say when I've cried 'all a- growing ' on a nne-ish day, * Aye, now sunmier*s a-coming.' I wish you may get it, says I to myself; for I've studied the seasons." In May the costermonger' s profit is greater. He vends fresh fish — of which there is a greater supply and a greater demand, and the fine and often not very hot weather insures its freshness — and he sells dried herrings and " roots " (as they are called) such as wall -flowers and "stocks. The average earnings then are from Ids. to 12«. a week. In June, new potatoes, peas, and beans tempt the costermongers' customers, and then his earn- ings rise to 1/. a week. In addition to this 1/., if the season allow, a costermonger at the end of the week, I was told by an experienced hand, " will earn an extra IQs. if he has anything of a round," " Why, I've cleared thirty sliillings myself," he added, "on a Saturdajr night" In July cherries are the principal article of traffic, and then the profit varies from 4«. to 8«. Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOH, 55 a day, weather pennitting, or 30«. a week on m low average. On -my inquiry if they did not sell fish in that month, the answer was, " No, sir; we pitch fish to the ; we stick to cherries, strawberries, raspberries, and ripe currants and gooseberries. Potatoes is getting good and cbeap then, and so is peas. Many a round's worth a crown every day of the week.'* In August, the chief trading is in Orleans plums, green-gages, apples and pears, and in this month the earnings are from 5«. to 6s. a day. [I may here remaric that the costermon- gers care little to deal in either vegetables or fish, "when the fruit's in," but they usually carry a certain supply of vegetables all the year round, for those customers who require them.] In September apples are vended, and about 2s. 6d. a day made. In October " tlie weather gets cold," I was told, " and the apples gets fewer, and tlie day's work's over at four ; we then deals most in fish, such as soles ; there's a good bit done in oysters, and we may make Is. or Is, 6d. a day, but it's uncertain." In November fish and vegetables are the chief commodities, and then from Is. to 1«. 6<2. a day is made ; but in the latter part of the month an extra 6d. or Is. a. day may be cleared, as sprats come m and sell well when newly introduced. In December the trade is still principally in fish, and l2d.0T 18te ; he will sooner give credit — when he knows " the party" — than change, even if he have it If, however, he feels compelled, rather than ofiend a regular oustomeri to take the note, he will not rest until he has obtained sovereigns for it at a neighbouring imikeeper's, or from some trades- man to whom he is known. " Sovereigns," said one man, and not a very ignorant man, to me, "is something to lay hold on; a note ain't" Moreover, should one of the more ignorant, having tastes for the beer-shop, &c., meet with "a great haul," or save bl. by some continuous industry (which he will most likely sfct down as "luck"), he will spend it idly or recklessly m dissipation and amusement, regardless of the coming winter, whatever he may have suffered during the past Nor, though they know, from the bitterest experience, that their earnings in the winter are not half those of the rest of the year, and that they are incapacitated from pursuing their trade in bad weather, do they endeavour to make the extra gains of their best time mitigate the want of the worst Of the Costermongers in Bad Weather and during the cuolera. " Three wet days," I was told by a clergy- man, who is now engaged in selling stenograpmc cards in the streets, " will bring the greater part of 30,000 street-people to the brink of starva- tion." This statement, terrible as it is, is not exaggerated. The average number of wet days every year in London is, according to the records of the Royal Society, 161 — that is to say, rain falls in the metropolis more than three days in each week, and very nearly cvci^ other day throughout the year. How precanous a means of living then must street-selling be ! When a costermonger cannot pursue his out- door labour, he leaves it to the women and children to "work the public -houses," while he spends his time in the beer-shop. Here he gambles away his stock-money oft enough, " if Uie cards or the luck runs again him;" or else he has to dip into his stock-money to support himself and his family. He must then borrdw fresh capital at any rate of interest to begin again, and he begins on a small scale. If it be in the cheap and busy seasons, he may buy a pad of soles for 2«. 6d, and clear 5s, on them, and that " sets him a-gdng again, and then he gets his silk handkerchief out of pawn, and goes as usual to market" The sufiferings of the costermongers during the prevalence of the cholera in 1849, were in- tense. Their customers generally relinquished the consumption of potatoes, greens, fhut, and fish ; ifldee^ of almost every article on the con- sumption of which the costermongers depend for nis daily bread. Many were driven to apply to the parish ; " many had relief and many hadn't," I was told. Two young men, withm the knowledge of one of my informants, became professions thieves, after enduring much destitution. It does not appear that the costermongers manifested any personal dread of the visitation of the cholera, or thought that their lives were imperilled : " We weren't a bit afraid," said ohe of them, " and, perhaps, that Digitized by Google 58 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. was the reason so few costers died of tlic cbolera. I knew them all in Lambeth, I think, and I knew only one die of it, and he drank hard. Poor Waxy ! he was a good fellow enough, and was well known in the Cut But it was a ter- rible time for us, sir. It seems to me now like a shocking dream. Fish I could* nt sell a bit of ; the people had a perfect dread of it — all but the poor Irish, and there was no making a crust out of them. They had no dread. of fish, however ; indeed, they reckon it a religious sort of living, livinff on fish, — but they wiU have it dirt cheap. We were in terrible distrvn all that time." Of the Costermonoees' Rabfles. In their relief of the rick, if relief it is to be called, the costermongers retort to an exciting means ; something is raffled, and the proceeds given to the 8uf!^rer. This mode is common to other working-classes ; it partakes of the excite- ment of gambling, and is encouraged by the landlords of the houses to which the people resort The landlord displays the terms of the raffle in his bar a few days before the occur- rence, which is always hi the evening. The raffle is not confined to the sick, but when any one of the class is in distress —that is to say, without stock-money, and unable to borrow it, — a raffle for some article of his is called at a public-house in the neighbourhood. Cards are printed, and distributed among his mates. The article, let it be whatever it may — perhaps a handkerchief— is put up at 6d. a member, and from twenty to forty members are got, according as the man is liked by his "mates," or as he has assisted others similarly situated. The paper of everv raffle is kept by the party calling it, and before he puts his name down to a raffle for an- other party, he refers to the list of subscribers to his raffle, in order to see if the person ever assisted him. Raffles are very " critical things, the pint pots fly about wonderful sometime*"— to use the words of one of my informahts. The jiarty calling the raffle is expected to take the chair, if he can write down the subaeribers' names. One who had been chairman at (me of these meetings assured me tliat on a particular occasion, having called a *• general dealer" to order, the party very nearly split his head open with a quart measure. If the hucksters know that the person calling the raffle is " down," and that it is necessity that has made him call it, they will not allow the property put up to \ye thrown for. " If you was to go to the raffle to-night, sir," said one of them to me, many months ago, before I became known to the class, " thevM say to one another directly jrou come in, • \Vho's this here swell ? What* s he want ? ' And they'd think you were a * cad,' or else a spy, come from the police. Bat they'd treat you civilly, I'm sure. Some very likely would fancy you was a fast kind of a gentleman, roine there for a lark. But you need have no fcnr, tlKJUgh the pint pots does fty about some- times." Of the Markets and Trade Rights of the costerongers, and of tue laws affecting them. The next point of conrideration it what are the legal regulations under which the several de- scriptions of hawkers and pedlars are allowed to pursue their occupationt. The laws concerning hawkert and pedlars, (50 Geo. III., c 41, and 6 Geo. IV., c. 80,) treat of tl^m at identical callings. The "hawker," however, is, strictly speaking, one who sells wares by crjfuig them in the streets of towns, while the pedlar travels m/ooi through the country with his wares, not publicly pro- claindng them, but Vinting the houses on his way to solidt private custom. Until the com- mencement of tiie present century — before the increased facilities for conveyance — the pedlars were m numerous body in the country. The majority of them were Scotchmen and some amassed considenblc wealth. Railways, how- ever, have now reduced the numbers to insig- nificance. Hawkers and pedlars are required to pay 4/. yearly for a license, and an additional 4/. for every horse or ass employed in the conveyance of wares. The hawkmg or exposing for sale of fish, fruit, or victuals, does not require a license ; and further, it is lawfril for any one " being tlie maker of any home manufacture," to expose it for sale in any foir or market, without a warrant Neither does anytliuig in either of the two acts in question prohibit " any tinkec, cooper, glazier, plumber, harness-mender, or other person, from going sibout and carrying the materials proper to their business." The right of the costermongers, then, to "hawk" their wares through the streets is plainly infSerred by the above acts ; that is. to say, nothing in them extends to prohibit persons "going about," imlicensed, ana at their own discretion, and selling fish, vegetables, fruit, or provisions generally. The law acknowledges none of the street "markets." These congregatii^ are, indeed, in antagonism to the municipal Uws of London, which provide that no market, or public place where provisions are sold, shall be held withiii seven miles of the city. The law, though it permits butchers and other provisionmongers to hire stalls and standings in the flesh and other markets, recognised by custom or uaage, gives no such permission as to street-trading. The right to sell provisioas from stands in the streets of the metropolis, it appears, is merely permissive. The regulation observed is this: where the eostemongers or other street-dealers have been in the habit of standing to sell their goods, they are not to be disturbed by tho poUpe unless OB complaint of an a4jacent shopkeeper or other inhabitant If such a person shows that the costermonger, whose stand is near his pre- mises, is by his improper conduct a nuisance, or that, by his clamour or any peculiarity in his mode of business, he causes a crowd to gather Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, 59 ind obstruct the thoroughfare, the policeman's duty is to remove him. If the complaint from the inhabitants against the street- sellers be at all general the policemen of the beat report it to the authoritiefl, taking no steps until they receive instructions. It is somewhat anomalous, however, that the law now recogmses-^inferentially it is true — the right of costermongers to carry about their goods for sale. Formerly the stands were some- times tolerated, but not the itinerancy. The enactments of the Common-council from the time of Elizabeth are stringent against itinerant traders of all descriptions, but stringent to no purpose of prevention. In 1607, a Com- mon-council enactment sets forth, that "many People of badd and lewde Condicon daylie resorte Arom the most Parte of this Realme to the said Cyttie, Snburbes, and Places a(^oininge, pro- curlnge themselves small Habytacons, namely, one Chamber- Roome for a poore Forreynor and his Familye, in a small Cottage with some other as poore as himseK in the Cyttie, Suburbes, or Places adjacente, to the great Increase and Pestringe of this Cyttie with poore People; many of them proovinge Shifters, lyvinge by Coseninge, Stealinge, and Imb^ellinge of Mens Oooddes as Opportunitye may serve them, remoovinge itom Place to Place accordinglye ; many Tymes runninge away, forsakinge their Wives and Children, leaviuge them to the Charge of the said Cyttie, and the Hospitalles of the same." It was towards this class of men who, by their resort to the capital, recruited the numbers of the street-sellers and public porters and others that the jealousy of the Corporation was directed. The city shop-keepers, three cen- turies ago, complained vehemently and continu- ously of the injuries inflicted on their trade by itinerant dealers, complaints which led to boot- less enactments. In Elizabeth's reign the Coiurt of Common Council declared that the streets of the city should be used, as in ancient times, for the common highway, and not for the traffic of hucksters, pedlars, and hagglers. But this traffic increased, and in 16S2 another enactment was accounted neoessary. Oyster-wives, herb- wives, tripe- wives, and all such "unruly peo- ple," were threatened with the full pains and penalties of the outraged law if they persevered in the prosecution of their callings, which are stigmatised as " a way whereby to live a more eaaie life than by labour." In 1694 the street- sellers were menaced with the punishments then deemed suitable for arrant rogues and sturdy beggars — ^whipping ; and that remedy to be ap- plied alike to males and females I The tenor of these Vagrant Laws not being generally known, I here transcribe them, as another proof of the "wisdom" and mercy of our " ancestors" in " the good old times ! " In the year 1630 the Englkh Paiiiament enacted, that, whfle the impotent poor should receive licenses from the justices of the peace to beg within oertabi Umits, all men and wmnM) " being whole and mighty in body, and able to labour," if found vagrant and unable to give an account as to how they obtained their living, should be apprehended by the constables, tied to the tail of a cart naked^ and beaten with whips through the nearest market-town, or hamlet, " till their bodies be bloody by reason of such whipping I " Five years afterwards it was added, that, if the individual had been once already whipped, he or she should not only be whipped again, but " also shall have the upper part of the gristle of his ear clean cut off, so as it may appear for a perpetual token hereafter that he hath been a contemner of the good order of the commonwealth." And finally, in 1662, it was directed that any beggar convicted of being a vagabond should, after being grievou^^ly whipped, be burnt through the gristle of the right car "with a hot iron of the compass of an inch about," unless some person should agree to take him as a servant — of course without wages — for a year ; then, that if he twice ran away from such master, |{e should be adjudged a felon ; and that if he ran away a third time, he should " syiSkr pains of deatli and loss of land and goods as a felon, without benefit of clergy or sanctuary." The only acts now in force which regulate the government of the streets, so to speu, are those best known as Michael Angelo Taylor's Act, and the 2 & 3 Vic, best Imown as the Police Act. Of the Removals op Costermongebs FROM THE Streets. Such are the laws concerning street trading: let us now see the effect of them. Within these three months, or little more, there have been many removals of the costermongers from their customary standings in the streets. This, as I have stated, is never done, unless the shopkeepers represent to the police that the cos- termongers are an injury and a nuisance to them in the prosecution of their respective trades. The costermongers, for the most part, know nothing of the representation of the shopkeepers, 80 that perhaps the first intimation that they must "quit" comes from the policemen, who thus incur the full odium of the measure, the majority of the street people esteeming it a mere arbitrary act on the part of the members of die force. The first removal, recently, took place in Leather-lane, Holboni, between three and four months back. It was effected in consequence of representations from the shopkeepers of the neighbourhood. But the removal was of a brief continuance. " Leather-lane," I was told, " looked like a desert compared to what it was. People that had lived there for years hardly knew their own street ; and those that had com- plained, might twiddle their thumbs in their shops fbr want of something better to do." The reason, or one reason, why the shop- keepers' trade is eo-existent with that of the street-sellers was expliuned to me in this way Digitized by Google 60 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, by a tradesman perfectly familiar with the sub- ject " The poorer women, the wives of mecha- nics or small tradesmen, who have to prep^ dinners for their husbands, like, as they call it, * to make one errand do.' If the wife buys fish or vegetables in the street, as is generally done, she will, at the same time, buy her piece of bacon or cheese at the cheesemonger's, her small quantity of tea and sugar at the grocer's, her nre-wood at the oilman's, or her pound of beef or liver at the butcher's. In all the street- markets there are plenty of such tradesmen, supplying necessaries not vended in the streets, and so one errand is siifficient to provide for the wants of the family. Such customers — that is, such €8 have been used to buy in the streets — will fiot be driven to buy at the shops. They can't be persuaded that they can buy as cheap at tlie shops ; and besides they are apt to think shopkeepers are rich and street-sellers poor, and that they may as well encourage the poor. So if one street-market is abolished, they'll go to another, or buy of the itinerant costermongers, and they'll get their bits* of groceries and the like at the shops in the neighbourhood of the other street-maniet, even if they have a walk for it; and thus everybody's ii^ured by removing markets, except a few, and they are those at the nearest markets that's not disturbed." In Leather-lane the shopkeepers speedily retrieved what many soon came to consider the false step (as regards their interests) which they had taken, and in a fortnight or so, they ma- naged, by further representations to the police authorities, and by agreement with the street- sellers, that the street- market people should return. In little more than a fortnight from that time. Leather-lane, Holbom, resumed its wonted busy aspect. In Lambeth the case at present is different The men, women, and children, between two and three months back, were all driven by the police from their standings. These removals were made, I am assured, in consequence of representations to the police from the parishioners, not of Lam- beth, but of the adjoining parish of Christchurch, Blackfriars-road, who described the market as an injury and a hindrance to their business. The costermongers, etc., were consequently driven from the spot A highly respectable tradesman in " the Cut" told me, that he and all his brother shopkeepers had found their receipts diminished a quar- ter, or an eighth at least, by the removal; and as in all populous neighbourhoods profits were small, this falling off was a very serious matter to them. In "the Cut" and its immediate neighbour- hood, are tradesmen who supply street-dealers with the articles they trade in, — such as cheap stationery, laces, children's shoes, braces, and toys. They, of course, have been seriously afifected by the removal ; but the pinch has fallen sorest upon the street-sellers themselves. These people depend a good deal one upon another, as they make mutual purchases ; now, as they have nei- ther stalls nor means, such a source of profit is abolished. " It is hard on such as me," said a fruit-seller to me, " to be driven away, for nothing that I've done wrong as I knows of, and not let mc make a living, as I've been brought up to. I can't get no work at any of the markets. I've tried Billingsgate and the Borough hard, but there is so many poor men trying for a crust, they're fit to knock a new-comer's head off, though if they did, it wouldn't be much matter. I had 9s. 6d. stock- money, and I sold the apples and a few pears I had fur Ss. 9d., and that ihs. Sd. I've been spin- ning out since I lost my pitch. But it's done now, and I haven't had two meals a day for a week and more — and them not to call meals — only bread and cofifee, or bread and a drink of beer. I tried to get a round of customers, but all the rounds was full, and I'm a very bad walker, and a weak man too. My wife's gone to try the country — I don't know where she is now. I suppose I shall lose my lodging this week, and then I must see what ' the great house' will say to me. Perhaps they'll give me nothing, but take me in, and that's hard on a man as don't want to be a pauper." Another man told me that he now paid 3*. a week for privilege to stand with two stalls on a space opposite the entrance into the National Baths, New Cut ; and that he and his wife, who had stood for eleven years in the neighbourhood, without a complaint against them, could hardly get a crust One man, with a fruit-stall, assured me that nine months ago he would not have taken 20/. for his pitch, and now he was a " regular bankrupt" I a^d a girl, who stood beside the kerb with her load in front strapped roimd her loins, whe- ther her tray was heavy to carry. " After eight hours at it," she answered, " it swaggers me, like drink." The person whom I was with brought to me two girls, who, he informed me, had been forced to go upon the streets to gain a living. Their stall on the Saturday night used to have 4/. worth of stock ; but trade had grown so bad since the New Police order, that after living on their wares, they had taken to prostitution for a living, rather than go to the "house." The ground in front of the shops has been bought up by the costermongers at any price. Many now give the tradesmen six shillings a week for a stand, and one man pays as much as eight for the right of pitching in front The applications for parochial relief, in con- sequence of these removals, have been fewer than was anticipated. In Lambeth parish, how- ever, about thirty families have been relieved, at a cost of 801. Strange to say, a quarter, or ra^er more, of the very applicants for relief had been furnished by the parish with money to start the trade, their expulsion from which had driven them to pauperism. It consequently becomes a question for serious consideration, whether any particular body of householders should, for their own interest, con- venience, or pleasure, have it in their power to Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, 61 deprive so many poor people of their only means of livelihood, and so either force the rate-payers to keep them ^^ paupers, or else drive the women, who object to tlie imprisonment of the Union, to ])rostitution, and the men to theft — especially when the very occupation which they are not allowed to pursue, not only does no injury to the neighbourhood, but is, on the contrary, tlie means of attracting considerable custom to the shops in the locality, and has, moreover, been provided for them by the parish authorities as a means of enabling them to get a living for themselves. Of the Tricks op Costermonoers. I shall now treat of the tricks of trade practised by the London costermongers. Of these the costers speak with as little reserve and as little shame as a fine gentleman of his peccadilloes. "I've boiled lota of oranges," chuckled one man, "and sold them to Iri&n hawkers, as wasn't wide awake, for stunning big imt. The boiling swells the oranges and so makes 'em look finer ones, but it spoils them, for it takes out the juice. People can't find that out though until it's too late. I boiled the oranges only a few minutes, and three or four dozen at a time." Oranges thus prepared will not keep, and any unfortunate Insh woman, tricked as were my informant's customers, is astonished to find her stock of oranges turn dark-coloured and worth- less in forty-eight hours. The fruit is " cooked" in this way for Saturday night and Sunday sale — times at which the denumd is the briskest Some prick the oranges and express the juice, v,'hich they sell to the British wine-makers. Apples cannot be dealt with like oranges, but they are mixed. A cheap red-skinned firuit, known to costers as "gawfs," is rubbed hard, to look bright and feel soft, and is mixed with apples of a superior description. " Gawfs are sweet and sour at once," I was told, " and fit for nothing but mixing." Some foreign apples, from Holland and Belgium, were bought very cheap last March, at no more than 16d. a bushel, and on a fine morning as many as fifty boys might be seen rubbing these apples, in Hooper- street, Lambeth. " I've made a crown out of a bushel of 'em on a fine day," said one sharp youth. The larger apples are rubbed sometimes with a piece of woollen cloth, or on the coat skirt, if that appendage form part of the dress of the person applying the friction, but most frequently they are rolled in the palms of the hand. The smaller apples are thro¥m to and fro in a sack, a lad holding each end. " I wish I knew how the shopkeepers manages their fruit," said one youth to me ; "I should like to be up to some of their moves ; they do manage their things so plummy." Cherries are capital for mixing, I was assured by practical men. They purchase three sieves of indifferent Dutch, and one sieve of good English cherries, spread the English fruit over the inferior quality, and sell them as the best Strawberry pottles arc often half cabbage leaves, a few tempting strawberries being displayed on the top of the pottle. " Topping up," said a fruit dealer to me, *' is the principal thing, and we are perfectly justified in it You ask any coster that knows the world, and he'll tell you that all the salesmen in the markets tops up. It's only making the best of it" Filberts they bake to make them look brown and ripe. Prunes they boil to give them a plumper and finer appearance. The latter trick, however, is not unusual in the shops. The more honest costermongers will throw away fish when it is unfit for consumption, less scrupulous dealers, however, only throw away what is utterly unsaleable ; but none of them fling away the dead eels, tliough their prejudice against such dead fish prevents their mdulging in eel-pies. The dead eels are mixed with the living, often in the proportion of 20 lb. dead to 5 lb. alive, equal quantities of each being accounted very fair dealing. " And after all," said a street fish dealer to me, " I don't know why dead eels should be objected to ; the aristo- crats don't object to them. Nearly all fish is dead before it's cooked, and why not eels ? Why not eat them when they're sweet, if they're ever so dead, just as you eat fresh herrings ? I be- lieve it's only among the poor and among our chaps, that there's this prejudice. Eels die quickly if they're exposed to the sun." Herrings are made to look fresh and bright by candle-light, by the lights being so disposed *' as to give them," I was told, " a good reflec- tion. Why I can make them look splendid ; quite a pictur. I can do the same with macke- rel, but not so prime as herrings." There are many other tricks of a similar kind detailed in the course of my narrative. We should remember, however, that thopkeepert are not immaculate in this respect OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF FISH. Of the Kind and Quantities of Fish sold bt the london costbr^ongers. Having now given the reader a general view of the numbers, characters, habits, tastes, amuse- ments, language, opinions, earnings, and vicissi- tudes of the London costermongers, — having de- scribed their usual style of dress, diet, homes, conveyances, and streejt-markets, — having ex- plained where their donkeys are bought, or the terms on which they borrow them, their barrows, their stock-money, and occasionally their stock itself,— having shown their ordinary mode of dealing, either m perron or by deputy, Digitized by Google 62 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, either at half-profits or by means of boys,— where they go and how they manage on their rounds in town and in the country, — what are the laws affecting them, as well as the operation of those laws upon the rest of the commmiity, — having done all this by way of giving the reader a general knowledge of the street- sellers of fish, fruit, and vegetables, — I now proceed to treat more particularly of each oi tliese classes seriatim. Beginning with the street-fishmongers, I shall descnbe, in due ordtr, the season when, the market where, and the classes of people by whom, tlie wet-fish, the dry-fish, and the shell- fish are severally sold and purchased in the London streets, together with all other con- comitant circumstances. Tlie facilities of railway conveyance, by means of which fish can be sent from the coast to the capita] with much greater rapidity, and therefore be received much fresher than was formerly the case, have brought large supplies to London from places that before contributed no quantity to tlie market, and so induced, as I heard in all quarters at Billingsgate, an extra- ordinary lowness of price in this species of diet This cheap food, through the agency of the costermongers, is conveyed to every poor man's door, both in the thickly-crowded streets where the poor reside — a family at least in a room —in the vicinity of Drurv-lane and of White- chapel, in Westminster, Bethnal-green^ and St Giles's, and through the long miles of the suburbs. For all low-priotd Ibh the poor are the costermongers' best customers, and a fish diet seems becoming almost as common among the ill-paid classes of London, as is a potato diet among the peasants of Ireland. Indeed, now, the fish season of the poor never, or rarely, knows an interruption. If fresh herrings are not hi the market, there arc sprats ; and if not sprats, there are soles, or whitings, or raackarel, or plaice. The rottas of the very neediest of our neecly metropolitan population, always smell of fish ; most frequently of herrings. 80 much so, indeed, that to those who, like myself, have been in the habit of visiting their dwellings, the smell of herrings, even in comfortable homes, savours from association, so strongly of squalor and wretchedness, as to be often most oppres- sive. The volatile oil of the fish seems to hang about the walls and beams of the rooms for ever. Those who have experienced the smell of fish only in a well-ordered kitchen, can form no adequate notion of this stench, in perhaps a dilapidated and ill-drained house, and in a rarely-cleaned room ; and I have many a time heard both husband and wife — one eouple espe- cially, who were " sweating " for a gorgeous clothes' emporium— say that they had not time to be clean. The costermonger supplies the poor with every kind of fish, fbr he deals, usually, in every kind when it is cheap. Some confine their dealings to such things as shrimps, or periwinkles, but tlie adhering to one particular article is the exception and not tfee rule ; while shrimps, lobster^ &c., are rarely bought by the very poor. Of the entire quantity of fish sent to Billingsgate-market, the costermongers, sta- tionary and itinerant, may be said to sell one- third, taking one kind with another. The fish sent to London is known to Billings- gate salesmen as "red" and " white" fish. The red fish is, as regards tlie metropolitan mart, confined to the salmon. The other descrip- tions are known as "white." The coster- mongers classify the fish they vend as "wet" and "dry." All firesh fish is "wet;" all cured or salted fish, "dry." The fish which is sold " pickled," is known by that appellation, but its street sale is insignificant The principal fish-staple, so to speak of the street-fishmonger, is soles, which are in supply all, or nearly all, the year. "Die next are herrings, mackarel, whitings, Dutch eels, and plaice. The trade in plaice and sprats is almost entirely in the hands of the costermongers; their sale of shrimps is nearer a half than a third of the entire quantity tent to Billingsgate ; but then* purehase of cod, or of the best lobsters, or crabs, is far below a third. The coetermonger rarely buys turbot, or brill, or even salmon, unless he can retail it at 6d, the pound. When it is at that price, a street salmon-seller told me that the eagerness to buy it was extreme. He had known persons, who appeared to him to be very poor, buy a pound of salmon, " just for a treat once in a way." His best, or rather readiest customers — for at 6d. a pound all classes of the community may be said to be his purchasers— were the shopkeepers of the busier parts, and the occupants of the smaller private fiouses of the suburbs. During the past year salmon was scarce and dear, and the coster- mongers bought, comparatively, none of it In a tolerably cheap season they do not sell more than from a fifteenth to a twentieth of the quan- tity received at Billingsgate. In order to be able to arrive at the quantity or weight of the several kinds of fish bM by the costermongers hi the streets of London, it is necessary that we should know the entire amount sent to Billingsgate-market, for it is only by estimating the proportion which the street-sale bears to the whole, that we can attain even an approximation to the truth. The following Table gives the results of certain information collected by myself for the first time, I believe, in this country. The facts, as well as the estimated proportions of each kind of fish sold by the costermongers, have been fiimished me by the most eminent of the Billingsgate salesmen — gentlemen to whom I am onder many obligatiens fbr their kindness, cousideratTon, and assistance, at all times and seasons. Digitized by Google LONDON LAliOVR AND THE LONDON POOR. 63 TABLE, SHOWING THE QUANTITY, WEIGHT, OR MEASURE OF THE FOL- LOWING KINDS OF FISH SOLD IN BILLINGSGATE MARKET IN THE COURSE OF THE YEAR: Description oT Fish. Number of Fish. Wet Fish. Salmon and Salmon Trout (29,000 boxes, 14 ash per box) Live Cod (ayeragin^ 10 lbs. each) Soles (averaging | lb. each) AVTiitinff (averaging 6 oz. each) Haddock (averaging 2 lbs. each) Plaice (averaging 1 lb. each) Mackarel (averaging 1 lb. each) Fresh Herrings (250,000 bars., 700 fish per bar.) „ (in bulk) Sprats Eels from Holland •. . . • I /g figh per 1 lb.) „ England and Ireland j ^ *^ ' Flounders (7,200 quarterns, 36 fish per quartern) Dabs (7,500 quarterns, 36 fish per quartern) . . Dry Fish. Barrelled Cod (15,000 barrels, 50 fish per barrel) Dried Salt Cod (5 lbs. each) Smoked Haddock (65,000 bars., 300 fish per bar.) Bloaters (265,000 baskets, 150 fish per basket) . Red Herrings (100,000 bars., 500 fish per bar.) . Dried Sprats (9,600 large bundles, 30 fibh per bmidle)* Shell Fish. Oysters (309,035 bars., 1,600 fish per bar.) . . Lobsters (averaging I lb. each fish; Crabs (averaging 1 lb. each fish) Shrunps (32-t to the pint) Whelks (224 to the J bus.) Mussels (1000 to the | bus.) ...... Cockles (2,000 to the \ bus.) Periwinkles (4,000 to the \ bus.) 406,000 400,000 97,520.000 17,020,000 2,470,000 33,600,000 23,520,000 175,000,000 1,050,000,000 9.797,760 259,200 270,000 750,000 1.600,000 19,500,000 147,000,000 50,000,000 288,000 495,896,000 1,200,000 600,000 498,428,648 4,943,200 50,400,000 67,392,000 304,000,000 Wdght or Measurt of FUh. lbs. 3,480,000 4,000,000 26,880,000 6,720,000 5,040,000 33,600,000 23,520,000 42,000,000 252,000,000 4,000,000 / 1,505,280 \ 127,680 43,200 48,750 4,200,000 8,000,000 10,920,000 10,600,000 14,000,000 96,000 1,200,000 600,000 192,295 gals. 24,300 I bu8.f 50,400 „ 32,400 „ 76,000 „ Proportion ■old by Costennongera. One- twentieth. One-fourth. One-fifteenth. One-fourth. One-tenUi. Seven-eighths. IVo-thirds, One-halC Tliree- fourths. Three-fourths. One- fourth. One-fourth. All. All. One-eighth. One-t^nth. One-eighth. One- four tlu One-half. None. One-fourtli. One -twentieth. One-twelfth. One-half, All. Two-thirds. Three-fourths. Three-fourths. * Costermonfrers dry their own smrsta. f The half-busbcl oieasore at BiUingtgate ic Op the Costermonoers' Fish Season. The season for the street- fishmongert begins about October and ends in May. In October, or a month or two earlier, may- be, they generally deftl in ftesh herrings, the supply of which lasts up to about the middle or end of November. This b about the best season. The herrings are sold to the poor, upon an a\erEge, at twelve a groat, or from S#. to 4«. the hundred. After or during Noretnber, the sprat and plaice season begins. The regular street-fishmonger, however, seldom deals in sprate. He " works*' these only when there is no other fish to be got He generally considen this trade beneath him, and more fit for women than men. Those costers who do seU them dispose of them now by weight at the rate of li. to 2d, the pound — a bushel ave- raging from 40 to 50 pounoa. The plaice season double quantity— or. more correctly, a buihel. continues to the first or second week in May. Dur- ing May the casualty season is on, and there is little fish certain from that time till salmon comes in, and this is about the end of the month. The salmon season lasts till about the middle of July, liie selling of sahnon is a bad trade in the poor districts, but a very good one in the better atreeta or the suburbs. At this work the street-fishmonger will sometimes earn on a fine day from 5«. to 12s. Tlie losses, however, are very great in this article if the w«ather prove bad. If kept at all ''over'* it loses its colour, and turns to a pale red, whioli is seen immedi- ately the knife goes Into the fish. While I was obtaining this infonnation tome months back, a man went past the wia^w of the tionse in which I was seated, with a barrow drawn by a donkey. He was crjing, " Fresh cod, oh ! if*, a pound, cod alive, oh I " My informant called me to the Digitized by Google 61 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, window, saying, " Now, here is what we call rougli cod." He told me it was three days old. He thought it was eatable then, he said. The eyes were dull and heavy and sunken, and the limp tails of the fish dangled over the ends of the barrow. He said it was a hanging market that day — that is to say, things had been dear, and the costers couldn't pay the price for them. He should fancy, he told me, the man had paid for the fish from 9d. to \a. each, which was at the rate of \d. per pound. He was calling them at 1)^. He would not take less than this until he had "got his own money in;" and then, proba- bly, if he had one or two of tlie fish left, he would put up with Irf. per pound. The weight he was " workkig " was 12 oz. to the pound. My inform- ant assured me he knew this, because he had borrowed Ids 12 oz. pound weight that morning. This, with the draught of 2 oz. in the weighing- machine, and the ounce gained by placing the fish at the end of the pan, would bring the actual weight given to 9 oz. per pound, and probably, he said the man had even a lighter pound weight in his barrow ready for a " scaly" customer. After the street-fishmonger has done his morning's work, he sometimes goes out with his tub of pickled salmon on a barrow or stall, ^ and sells it in saucers dX Id. each, or by the piece. This he calls as " fine Newcastle salmon." There is generally a great sale for this at the races ; and if coimtry-people begin with a penny- worth they end with a shillingsworth— a penny- worth, the costers say, makes a fool of the mouth. If they have any on hand, and a little stale, at the end of the week, they sell it at the public- houses to the " Lushingtons," and to them, with plenty of vinegar, it goes down sweet It is gene- rally bought for is. a kit, a little bit " pricked :" but, if good, the price is from 12*. to 18». "We're in no ways particular to that," said one candid coster to me. " We don't have the eating on it ourselves, and people a'n't always got their taste, especially when they have been drinking, and we sell a great deal to parties in that way. We think it no sin to cheat 'em of Id. while the pub- licans takes If." Towards the middle of June the street-fish- monger looks for mackerel, and he is gene- rally employed in selling this fish up to the end of Jiuy. After July the Billingsgate season is said to be finished. From this time to the middle of October, when the herrings return, he is mostly engaged selling dried haddocks and red herrings, and other "cas'alty fish that* may come across him." Many of the street-fish- mongers object to deal in periwinkles, or stewed mussels, or boiled whelks, because, being accus- tomed to take their money in sixpences at a time, they do not like, they say, to traffic in halfpenny- worths. The dealers in these articles are gene- rally looked upon as an inferior class. 'fiiere are, during the day, two periods for the sale of street-4sh — the one (the morning trade) beginning about ten, and lasting till one in the day — and the other (the night trade) lasting firom six in the evening up to ten at night What fish is left in the forenoon is generally disposed of cheap at night That sold at the latter time is generallY used by the working-class for supper, or kept by them with a little salt in a cool place for the next day's dinner, if it will last as long. Several articles are sold by the street- fishmonger chiefly by night These are oysters, lobsters, pickled salmon, stewed mussels, and the like. The reason why the latter articles sell better by night is, my informant say 3, "Because people are lofty-minded, and don't like to be seen eating on 'em in the street in the day-time." Shrimps and winkles are the staple commodities of the afternoon trade, which lasts from three to half-past five in the evening. These articles are generally bought by the working-classes for their tea. Billingsgate. To see this market in its busiest costermonger time, the visitor should be there about seven o'clock on a Friiay morning. The marke open^ at four, but for the first two or Uiree hours, it is attended solely by the regular fishmongers and " bummarees" who have ♦he pick of the best there. As soon as these are gone, tlie costers* sale begins. Many of the costers that usuaUv deal in vegeUbles, buy a little fish on the Friday. It is the fast day of the Irish, and the mechanics' ^ives run short of money at the end of the week) and so make up their dinners with fish ; for this reason the attendance of costers' bar- rows at Billingsgate on a Friday morning is always very great As soon as you reach the Monument you see a line of them, with one or two tall fislmionger's carts breaking the uni- formity, and the din of the cries and commotion of the distant market, begins to break on the cai like tlie buzzing of a hornet's nest The whole neighbourhood is covered with the hand-barrows, some laden with baskets, others with sacks. Yet as you walk along, a fresh line of costers' barrows are creeping in or being backed into almost im- Sossible openings ; until at every turning nothing ut donkeys and rails are to be seen. The morn- ing air is filled with a kind of seaweedy odour, reminding one of the sea- shore ; and on entering the market, the smell of fish, of whelks, red herrings, sprats, and a hundred others, is almost overpowering. The wooden barn-looking square where the fish is sold, is soon after six o'clock crowded with shiny cord jackets and greasy caps. Every- body comes to Billingsgate in his worst clotlies, and no one knows the length of time a coat can be worn until they have been to a fish sale. Through the bright opening at the end arc seen ^e tangled riggmg of the oyster-boats and the red worsted caps of the sailors. Over the hum of voices is heard the shouts of the salesmen, who, with their white aprons, peering above the heads of the mob, stand on their tables, roaring out their prices. All are bawling together— salesmen and huck- sters of provisions, capes, hardware, and newspft- Digitized by Q()ogle LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. Q5 pers — till the place is a perfect Babel of com- petition. *' Ha-a-ansome cod! best in the market ! All alive! alive! alive O!" " Ye-o-o! Ye-o-o! here's your fine Yarmouth bloaters! Who's the buyer ? " " Here you are, governor, splendid whiting! some of the tight sojj I " "Turbot! turbot! all alive! turbot!" "Glass of nice peppermint ! this cold morning a ha'penny a glass ! '• " Here you are at your own price I Fine soles, O!" "Oy! oy! oy! Now' » your time! fine grizzling sprats! all large and no small!" "Hullo! hullo here! beautiful lob- sters ! good and cheap ! fine cock crabs all alive O ! '* '* Five brill and one turbot— -have that lot for a pound! Come and look at 'em, go- vernor; you wont see a better sample in the market'* " Here, this way ! this way fot splen- did skate ! skate O ! skate O ! " " Had— had — had — had — haddick! all fresh and good!" " Currant and meat puddings I a ha'penny each!" "Now, you mussel - buyers, come along! come along! come along! now's your time for fine fat mussels !" " Here's food for the belly, and clothes for the back, but I sell food for Uie mind" (shouts the uewsvender). " Here's smelt O ! " " Here ye are, fine Finney haddick ! " " Hot soup ! nice peas-soup ! a-all hot! hot!" "Ahoy! ahoy here! live plaice! all alive O ! " " Now or never ! whelk ! whelk 1 whelk!" "Who'll buy brill O! brill O!" " Capes ! water-proof capes ! sure to keep the wet out ! a shilling a piece ! " " Eels O ! eels O ! Alive ! alive O ! " " Fine flounders, a shilling a lot! Who'll have this prime lot of floun- ders ? " " Shrimps ! shrimps ! fine shrimps ! " "Wink! wink! wink!" "Hi! hi-i ! here vou are, just eight eels left, only eight !" " O ho I O ho! this way — this way — this way! Fish alive ! alive ! alive O ! " In the darkness of the shed, the white bellies of the turbocs, strung up bow- fashion, shine like mother-of-pearl, while, the lobsters, lying upon them, look intensely scarlet, from the contrast. Brown baskets piled up on one another, and with the herring- scales glittering like spangles all over them, block up the narrow paths. Men in coarse canvas jackets, and bending under huge hampers, push past, shouting " Move on ! move on, there I " and women, with the long limp tails of cod-fish dangling from their aprons, elbow their way through the crowd. Roimd the auc- tion-tables stand groups of men turning over the piles of soles, and throwing them down till they slide about in their slime ; some are smell- ing them, while others are counting the lots. " There, that lot of soles are worth your money," cries the salesman to one of the crowd as he moves on leisurely ; " none better in the market. You shall have 'em for a pound and half-a- crown." "Oh I" shouts another salesman, " it's no use to bother him — he's no go." Presently a tall porter, with a black oyster-bag, staggers past, trembling under the weight of his load, nis back and shoulders wet with the drippings from the sack. " Shove on one side !" he mut- ters from between his clenched teeth, as he forces his way through the mob. Here is a tray of reddish-brown shrimps piled up high, and the owner busy sifting his little fish into another stand, while a doubtful customer stands in front, tasting the flavour of the stock and consult- ing with his companion in speculation. Little girls carrying' matting- bags, that they have brought from Spitalfields, come up, and ask you in a beg^ng voice to buy their baskets; and women with bundles of twigs for stringing her- rings, cnr out, "*Half-penny a bunch ! " from all sides. Then there are blue-black piles of small live lobsters, moving about their bound-up claws and long "feelers," one of them occa- sionally being taken up by a looker-on, and dashed down again, like a stone. Everywhere every one is asking, " What's the price, master? " while shouts of laughter from round the stalls of the salesmen, bantering each other, burst out, occasionally, over the murmuring noise of the c^owd. The transparent smelts OB tlie marble-slabs, and the bright herrings, with the lump of transparent ice magnifying their eyes like a lens, are seldom looked at until the market is over, though the hampers and piles of huge maids, dropping slime from the counter, are eagerly examined and bartered for. One side of the market is set apart for whelks. • There they stand in sackfulls, with the yellow shells piled up at the mouth, and one or two of the fish, curling out like cork- screws, placed as a sample. The coster slips one of these from its sheU, examines it, pushes it back again, and then passes away, to look well roimd the market. In one part the stones are covered with herring-barrels, packed closely with dried fish, and yellow heaps of stifi' had- dock rise up on all sides. Here a man walks up with his knot on his shoulder, waiting for a job to carry fish to the trucks. Boys in ragged clothes, who have slept during the night imder a railway-arch, clamour for employment ; while the heads of those returning from the oyster- boats, rise slowly up the stone sides of the wharl The costermongers have nicknamed the long row of oyster boats moored close alongside the wharf " Oyster-street" On looking down the line of tangled ropes and masts, it seems as though the httle boats would sink with the crowds of men and women thronged together on their decks. It is as busy a scene as one can well behold. Each boat has its black sign-board, and salesman in his white apron walking up and down " his shop," and on each deck is a bright pewter pot and tin- covered plate, the remains of the salesman's breakfast " Who's for Baker's?" "Who's for Archer's?" "Who'll have Alston's?" shout the oyster-merchapts, and the red cap of the man in the hold bobs up and down as he rattles the shells about with his spade. These holds are filled with oysters— a gray mass of sand and shell — on which is a bushel measure well piled up in tlie centre, while some of them have a blue muddy heap of mussels Digitized by Google 60 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, divided off ttom the "natives." The sailorfi ill their striped guernseys sit on the boat sides smoking their moniing's pipe, allowing them- selves to be tempted by the Jew boys with cloth capS) old shoes, and silk handkerchiefs. Lads with bundles of whips skip flrom one boat to another, and, seedy-lookiM mechanics, witli handfiils of tin ftincy goods, hover about the salesmen, who are the principal supporters of this trade. The place has somewhat the appearance of a little Holywell* street ; for tlie old clothes' trade is entirely in the liands of the Jew boys, and coats, caps, hats, umbrellas, and old shoes, are shouted out in a rich nasal twang on all sides. Passing by a man and liis wif^ who w«re breakfasting on the stone cophig, I went to the shore where the watermen ply for passengers to the eel boats. Here I Ibund a crowd of punts, half filled with flotmders, and small closely- packed baskets of them ranged along the seats. The lads, who act as jacks- in- the- water, were busy feeling in the mud !bt the fish that had fallen over board, little caring for the water that dashed over their red swollen feet Presently a boat, piled up with baskets, shot in, grating the bottom, and men and women, blue with the cold morning air, stepped out. The Dutch built eel-boats, witli their bulging polished oak sides, were half- hidden in4he river mist. They were surrounded by skiffs, that ply from the Surrey and Middlesex shores, and wait whilst the fares buy their fish. The holds of these eel-boats are fitted up with long tanks of muddy water, and the heads of the eels are seen breathing on the surface — a thick brown bubble rising slowly, and floating to the sides. "Wooden sabots and large porcelain pipes are ranged round the ledges, and men in tall fur caps with high check bones, and rings m their ears, walk the decks. At the stem of one boat was moored a coffin- shaped barge pierced with holes, and hanging in the water were baskets, shaped like olive jars — both to keep the stock of fish alive and fresh. In the centre of the boat stood the scales, — a tall heavy apparatus, one side fitted up with the conicid net-bag to hold the eels, and the other witli the weights, and pieces of stone to make up for the extra draught of the water hanging about the fish. When a skiff load of purciiasers arrives, the roaster Dutchman takes his hands from his pockets, lays down his pipe, and seizing a sort of long-handled landing-net scoops fipom the tank a lot of eels. The pur- chasers exainine them, and try to beat down the price. " You calls them eels do you ?" said a man with his bag ready opened. " Yeas," answered the Dutchman wiUiout^iny show of indignation. " Certainly, there is a few among them," conti- , nued the cufftomer ; and after a little more of this kind of chairing the bargain is struck. The visitors to the eel-boats were of all grades ; one was a neatly-dressed girl to whom the costers showed the utmost gallantry, calling her "my dear," and helping her up the shiniBg sides of the boat ; and many of the men had on their blue serge apron, but these were only where the prices were high. The greatest crowd of customers is in the heavy barge alongside of the Dutch craft Here a stout sailor in his red woollen shirt, and canvass petticoat, is sur- rounded by the most miserable and poorest of fish purchasers — the men with their crushed hats, tattered coats, and unshorn chins, and the women with their pads on their bonnets, and brown ragged gowns blowing in the breeze. One, in an old table-cover shawl, was beatuig her palms together before the unmoved Dutchman, fighting for an^ abatement, and showing her stock of halfpence. Others were seated round the barge, sorting their lots in their shallows, and sanding the fi^ till they were quite yellow. Others, again, were crowding round the scales narrowly watching the balance, and then beg- ging for a lew dead eels to make up any doubt- ful weight As you walk back from the shore to the market, you see small groups of men and women dividing the lot of fish they have bought together. At one basket, a coster, as you pass, calls to you, and says, " Here, master, just put these three halfpence on these three cod, and obleege a party." The coins are placed, and each one takes the fish his coin is on ; and so there is no dilute. At length nearly all the busy marketing has finished, and the costers hurry to breakfast At one house, known as " Rodway's Coffee-house," a man can have a meal fi>r Id. — a mug of hot coflSse and twa slices of bread and butter, while for two-pence what is elegantly termed ** a tight* ner," that is to say, a most plentiful repast, may be obtained. Here was a large room, with tables all round, and so extremely silent, that the smack- ing of lips and sipping of coffee were alone heard. Upwards of 1,S00 men breakfast here in the course of the morning, many of them taking as many as three such meals. On the counter was a pile of white mugs, and the bright tin cans 8t(x>d beside the blazing fire, whUst Rodway himself sat at a kind of dresser, cutting up and buttering the bread, with marvellous rapidity. It was a clean, orderly, and excellent estiU}Ush- ment, kept by a man, I was told, who had risen from a saloop stall. Opposite to the Coal Exchange were ranged the stalls and barrows with the street eatables, and the crowds round each showed tlie effects of the shai^ morning air. One — a Jew' s — had hot- pies with lids ^at rose as the gravy was poured in from an oil can ; another carried a stone Xar of peppermint- water, at |^ a ^aas ; and the pea- soup stand was hemmed in by bOys and men blowing the steam from their cups. Beside these were Jews with cloth caps and knives, and square yellow cakes; one aid man, in a cor- ner, stood examining a thread-bare scarf tliat a cravatless coster had handed to him. Coffee- stalls were in grsat plenty ; and men led their barrows to run up and have "an oyster," or '* an 'ot heet" One man here makes his living by selling sheete of old newspapers, at |m stealing some and eating them raw. If they make me sick, thought I, the police '11 take care of me, and that ' II be something. While these thoughts was a passing through my mind, I met a man who was a gentleman's coachman ; I knew him a Httle formerly, and so I stopped him and told him who I was, and that I hadn't had a meal for two days. ' Well, by G — ,' said the coachman, * you look like it, why I shouldn't have known you. Here's a shilling.' And then he went on a little way, and then stopped, and turned back and thrust Z\dU more into my hand, and bolted ofil I've never seen him since. But I 'm grateful to him in the Digitized by Google 70 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, same 'portion (proportion) as if I had. After I'd had a penn'orth of bread and a penn'orth of cheese, and half-a-pint of beer, I felt a new man, and I went to the party as I'd longed to steal the spraU from, and told him what I'd thought of. I can't say what made me tell him, but it turned out for good. I don't know much about religion, though I can read a little, but may be that had something to do with it" The rest of the man' s narrative was — briefly told — as follows. He was the only child of a gentleman's coachman His father had de- serted his mother and him, and gone abroad, he believed, with some family. His mother, how- ever, took care of him until her death, which happened " when he was a little turned thirteen, he had heard, but could not remember the year." After that he was *' a helper and a jobber in different stables," and " anybody's boy," for a few years, until he got a footman's, or rather footbo3r's place, which he kept above a year. After that he was in service, in and out of different situations, until the time he speci- fied, when he had been out of place for nearly five weeks, and was starving. Hia master had got in difficulties, and had gone abroad ; so he was left without a character. ** Well, sir," he continued, " the man as I wanted to steal the sprats from, says to me, says he, ' Poor fellow ; I know what a hemptv belly is myself— come and have a pint' And over that there pint, he told me, if I could rise 10«. there might be a chance for me in the streets, and he'd show me how to do. He died not very long after that, poor man. Well, after a little bit, I managed to borrow 10*. of Mr. (I thought of him all of a sudden). He was butler in a family that I had lived in, and had a charitable cha- racter, though he was reckoned very proud. But I plucked up a spirit, and told him how I was off, and he said, *Wcll, I'll try you,* and he lent me 10«., which I paid him back, little by 4ittle, in six or eight weeks i and so I started in the costermonger line, with the advice of my friend, and I've made from 6t. to lOff., sometimes more, a week, at it ever since. The police don't trouble me much. They it civil to me in 'portion (proportion) as I am civil to them. I never mixed with the costers but when I've met them at market I stay at a lodging- liouse, but it's very decent and clean, and I have a bed to myself, at \t. a week, for I'm a regular man. I'm on sprats now, you see, sir, and you'd wonder, sometimes, to see how keen people looks to them when they're new. They're a blessing to the poor, in 'portion (proportion) of course. Not twenty minutes before you spoke to me, there was two poor women came up — they was sickly -looking, but I don't know what they was — perhaps shirt-makers— and they says to me, says they, * Show us what a penny plateful is.' • Sart'nly, ladies,' -aays I. Then they whispered together, and at last one says, says she, * We'll have two platefuls.' I told you they was a blessing to the poor, sir— 'specially to such as them, as lives all the year round on bread and tea. But it's not only the poor as buys; others in 'portion (proportion). When they're new they're a treat to everybody. I've sold them to poor working-men, who've said, * I'll take a treat home to the old 'oman and the kids ; they dotes on sprats.' Gentlemen's servants is very fond of them, and mechanics comes down — such as shoemakers in their leather aprons, and sings out, ' Here, old sprats, give us two penn'orth.' They're such a relish. I sell more ' to men than to women, perhaps, but there's little difference. They're best stewed, sir, I tliink — if you're fond of sprats — with vinegar and a pick of allspice ; that's my opi- nion, and, only yesterday, an old cook said I was right I makes 1«. Qd. to 2s. 6d. a day, and sometimes rather more, on my sprats, and sticks to them as much as I can. I sell about my * toss ' a day, seldom less. Of course I can make as many penn'orths of it as I please, but there's no custom without one gives mid- dling penn'orths. If a toss costs me 3«., I may make sixty penn'orths of it sometimes— sometimes seventy or more — and sometimes less than sixty. There's many turns over as much as me and more than that I 'm think- ing that I'll work the country with a lot; they'll keep to a second day, when they're fresh to start, 'specially if its frosty weather, too, and then they're better than ever — yes, and a greater treat — sciUding hot from the fire, they're the cheapest and best of all suppers in the winter tiackfi, I hardly know which way I'll p^o. If I can get anythmk to do among horses m the country, I'll never come back- I've no tie to London." To show how small a sum of money will enable the struggling striving poor to obtain a living, I may here mention mat, in the course of my inquiries among the mudlarks, I casually gave a poor shoeless urchin, who was spoken of by one of the City Missionaries as being a well- disposed youth. Is, out of the funds that had been entrusted to me to dispense. Trifling as the amount appears, it was the means of keeping his mother, sister, and himself through the winter. It was invested in sprats, and turned over and over again. I am informed, by the best authorities, that near upon 1000 '* tosses" of sprats are sold daily in London streets, while the season lasts. These, sold retail in pennyworths, at very nearly 5s, the toss, give about 150/. « day, or say 1,000/. a week spent on sprats by the poorer olasset of the metropolis ; so that, calculating the sprat season to last ton weeks, about 10,000/. would be taken by the oostermongers during that time from the sale of this fish alone. Another return, furnished me by an eminent salesman at Billingsgate, estimates the g^ss quantity of sprats sold by the London costers in the course of the season at three millions of pounds weight, and tliis disposed of at the rate of led root," the potato. "The flesh offish," says Pereira on Diet, " is less satisfying than the flesh of either quadrupeds or birds. As it con- tains a larger proportion of water (about 80 per cent,), it is obviously less nourishing." Haller tells us he found Jiimself weakened by a fish- diet; and he states that Roman Catholics are generally debilitated during Lent Pechlin also affinns that a mechanic, tiourished merely by fish, has less muscular power thru one who lives on the flesh of warm-blooded animals. Jockeys, who waste Utetnselves in order to reduce ihcir weight, live principally on fish. The classes of fish above given, are, when considered in a '* dietetical point of view," of two distinct kinds ; viz., those which form the staple commodity of the dinners and suppers of the poor, and those which are mere relishes or stimuli to failing, rather than stays to, eager appetites. Under the former head, I include red-herrings, bloaters, and smoked haddocks; such things are not merely provocatives to eat, among the poor, as tliey are at the breakfast- table of many an over- fed or intemperate man. "With the less affluent these salted fish arc not a *' relish," but a meal. The shell-fish, however, can only be consi- dered as luxuries. The 150,000/. thus annu- ally expended in the streets, represents the sum laid out in mere relishes or stimuli to sluggish appetites. Avery large proportion of this amount, I am inclined to believe, is spent by persons whose stomachs have been disordered by driiik. A considerable part of the trade in the minor articles, as winks, shrimps, &c., is carried on in public-houses, while a favourite pitch for an oyster-stall is outside a tavern-door. If, then, so large an amount is laid out in an endeavour to restore the appetite after drinking, how much money must be squandered in destroying it by the same means? Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. 70 OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF FRUIT AND VEGETABLES. Of the kinds and Quantity of Fruit AND Vegetables sold in tub Streets. There are two kinds of fruit sold in the streets — "green fruit" and "dry fruit" In commerce, all fruit which is edible as it is taken from the tree or the ground, is known as "green." A subdivision of this green fruit is into "fresh" or "tender" fruit, which in- cludes currants, gooseberries, strawberries, and, indeed, all fruits that demand immediate con- sumption, in contradistinction to such produc- tions as nuts which may be kept without injury for a season. All fruit which is " cured" is known as " dry" fruit. In summer the costers vend " green fruit," and in the winter months, or in the early spring, when the deamess or insuffi- ciency of the supply of green fruit renders it unsuited for their traffic, they resort, but not extensively, to " dry fruit" It is principally, however, when an abundant season, or the im- possibility of keeping the dry fruit much longer, has tended to reduce the price of it, that the costlier articles are to be found on the coster- monger's barrow. Fruit is, for the most part, displayed on bar- rows, by the street- dealers in it Some who supply the better sort of houses — more espe- cially those in the suburbs — carry such things as apples and plums, in clean round wicker- baskets, holding pecks or half- pecks. The commoner "green" fruits of home pro- duce arc bought by the costermonger in the mar- kets. The foreign green fruit, as pine- apples, melons, grapes, chestnuts, coker-nuts. Brazil- nuts, hazel-nuts, and oranges, are purchased by them at the public sales of the brokers, and of the Jews in Duke's-place. The more intelligent and thrifty of the costers buy at the public sales on the principle of association, as I have elsewhere described. Some costermongers expend as much as 20/. at a time in such green fruit, or dry fruit, as is not inmiediately perishable, at a public sale, or at a jfruit-warehouse, and supply the other costers. The regular costermongers seldom deal in oranges and chestnuts. If they sell walnuts, they reserve these, they say, for their Sunday after- noon's pastime. The people who carry oranges, chestnuts, or walnuts, or Spanish nuts about the town, are not considered as costermongers, but are generally, though not always, classed, by the regular men, with the watercress- worn en, the sprat- women, the winkle- dealers, and such others, whom ihPy consider beneath them. The orange season is called by the costermonger the " Irishman's harvest" Indeed, the street trade in oranges and nuts is almost entirely in the hands of the Irish and thbir children ; and of the children of costermongers. The costers themselves would rather starve — and do starve now and then — than condescend to it. The trade in coker-nuts is carried on gieatly by the Jews on Sundays, and by young men and boys who are not on other days employed as street- sellers. The usual kinds of fruit the regular costers deal in are strawberries, raspberries (plain and stalked), cherries, apricots, plums, green-gages, currants, apples, pears, damsons, green and ripe gooseberries, and pine-apples. They also deal in vegetables, such as turnips, greens, brocoli, carrots, onions, celery, rhubarb, new potatoes, peas, beans (French and scarlet, broad and Wind"- sor), asparagus, vegetable marrow, seakale, spi- nach, lettuces, small salads, radishes, etc. Their fruit and vegetables they usually buy at Covent- garden, Spitalfields, or the Borough markets. Occasionally they buy some at Farringdon, but this they reckon to be very little better than a "haggler's market" —a "haggler" being, as I before expilained, the middle-man who attends in the fruit and vegetable-markets, and buys of the salesman to sell again to the retail dealer or costermonger. Concerning the quantity of fruit and vege- tables sold in the streets, by the London cos- termongers. This, as I said, when treat- ing of the street-trade in fish, can only be arrived at by ascertaining the entire quantit}' sold wholesale at the London markets, and tlien learning from the best authorities the propor- tion retailed in the public thoroughfares, FuUy to elucidate this matter, both as to the extent of the metropolitan supply of vegetables and fruit, (" foreign " as well as " home-grown," and "green" as well as "dry") and the relative quantity of each, vended through the agency of the costermongers, I caused inquiries to be instituted at all the principal markets and brokers (for not even the vaguest return on the subject had, till then, been prepared), and received from all the gentlemen connected therewith, every assistance and information, as I have here great pleasure in acknowledging. To carry out my present inquiry, I need not give returns of the articles not sold by the cos- termongers, nor is it necessary for me to cite any but those dealt in by them generally. Their exceptional sales, such as of mushrooms, cu- cumbers, &c., are not included here. The following Table show^ the ordinary annual supply of Jiome grown fmii (nearly all produced within a radius of twelve miles from the Bank) to each of the London "green" markets. Digitized by Google 80 lONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOH, A TABLE SHOWING THE QUANTITY OR MEASURE OP THE UNDERMENTIONED HOME- GROWN FRUITS AND VEGETABLES SOLD THROUGHOUT THE YEAR, WHOLESALE, IN THE METROPOLITAN "GREEN" MARKETS, WITH THE PROPORTION SOLD RETAIL IN THE STREETS. Dtfcriptlon of Fralu uid Veceublw. 1 Corent Garden. ' Borovffh. SplUlfields. FarrioRdoii. Portmui. Toul. ORRXK FRVIT. Applet .... 360,000 bushels 25.000 250,000 35,000 16.000 686,000 One-half. Pears . . 230,000 „ 10.000 83,000 20,000 10,000 353,000 One-half. Cherries . . . 90,000 dox. lbs. 45,000 15,000 12,000 11,200 173,<00 One-half. Plums* .... 08,000 bushels 15.500 45,000 3,000 20,000 176,500 One-fifteenth. Green Gages* 2,000 „ 333 1,500 1.000 500 5,333 One-flftietli. Damsons* . . . 19,800 „ 3,150 4,500 9.000 1,200 16,450 One thirtift»». BuUace .... 1,800 „ 1,620 400 540 540 4,900 One-hah. Gooseberries . . 140,000 .,. 26,200 91,500 12.000 7,000 276,700 three-fourths. Currants (Red)* . 70.000 sieves 15,000 75,000 6,000 9,000 171,000 One-half. Ditto (Black). 45,000 ,. 12,000 45.' 00 6,000 4,000 108,000 One-eijthth. Ditto (White). 3,800 ,. 3.000 15,000 3,000 2,000 24,00U One-eighth. One-h«lf. Strawberries t . . 638,000 pottles 330,000 396,000 15,000 148,500 1,527,500 Raspberries . . MulWries . . 22,500 „ 3,750 2,500 3,500 3,000 35,250 One-twentieth. 17.496 „ 57,600 7,064 17,281 22,500 121,940 One-founh. Haxel Nuts . . 2,700 bushels 1,000 648 5,400 270 9,018 Two-thirds. PUberts. . . . 221,400 lbs. 72,0u0 43,200 H4,000 87,800 518,400 One-ihirtieth. YEOETABLB8. Potatoes . . . 161,280.000 lbs. 48,384,0'»0 64,512,000 24,192,000 12,096,000 310,464,000*One-fifteenth. Cabbajfcst. . . 33,600,000 plant* 19,200,000 12,00^,000 8,400,000 16,472,000 89,672,000 One-third. Brocoliand Cauli- flowers } 1.800,000 heads 3,780,000 2,880,000 5.320,000 546,000 14,326,000 One-twentieth. Turnips . . . 18,800,000 roots 4,800,000 4,800,000 3,500.000 748,000 32,648,000 One-tenth. Turnip Tops . . 300.000 Junks, 500,000 600,000 250,000 200,«00 1,850,000 One-third. CarroU .... 12,000.000 roots 1,571,000 2,400,000 1,500,000 546,000 16,817,000 One-thirtieth. Peas 270.000 bushels 50,' 00 100,000 14,000 4,000 438,000 One-half. Beans .... 100,000 „ 20,000 10,000 a,400 1.000 133,400 One-fifteenth. French Beans 140,000 „ 9,600 12.000 50,000 9,600 221,100 One- tenth. VegeUb.MarTOws 10,800 dozen 3,240 3,600 432 1.800 19,872 One-third. ^r^': : 12,000 dz. bun. 3,600 1,080 1,440 1,440 19,560 One-fortieth. 15,000 „ 4,800 6,000 3,000 e,im 34,800 One-eighth. Rhubarb . . . 7,200 48,000 28,800 2,400 4,800 91,200 One-tenth. Lettuces . . . 734,400 plants 6,912 dz.hands 1,080,000 2,073,600 129.600 475,200 4,492.800 One-eighth. Radishes . . . 43.200 36,000 18,000 28,800 132,912 One-tenth. Onions .... 500,000 bushels 898.000 400,000 9.600 182.000 1,489,600 One-third. Ditto (Spring) . 36,000 dz. bun. 10,800 21,600 21,600 14,400 94,000 One-fourth. Cucumbers . . 2,160 bushels 10,800 24.000 12,000 38.400 87,360 One-eighth. Herbs . . . . 7.200 dz. bun. 9,600 9,400 7,800 3,900 32,900 One-tenth. * The above fruits are not all homegrown. The currants. I am informed, are one-flfteenth foreign. The foreigu " tender " fruit being sent to the markets, it is impossible to obtain separate returns. t A common sale of strawberries in the markets is " rounds." I have, however, given the quantity thus sold less technically, and in the measures most familiar to the general public. X The cabbages, turnips, &c. are brought in loads to the great wholesale markets, a load varying from 1 50 to 200 dozen, but being more freauently nearer 200, and not unfrequently to fully that amount. Not to perplex my reader with too great a multicipllcity of figures in a tabular arrangement, I have given the quantity of individual articles in a load, without specifying it. In the smaller market (for vegetables) of Portman, the cabbaiges, &c., are not conveyed in waggons, as to the other markets, but in carts containing generally sixty dozens. The various proportions of the several kinds of fruit and vegetables sold by the costermongers are here calculated for ail the markets, from returns which have heeii obtained from each market separately. To avoid unnecessary detail, however, these several items are lumped toge. ther, and the aggregate proportion above given. The foregoing Table, however, relates chiefly to "home grown" supplies. Concerning the quantity of foreign fruit an^ vegetables im- ported into this country, the proportion con- sumed in London, and the relaOve amount sold by the costers, I have obuined the following returns : — Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, 81 Table, showing the Quantity or Measure OF THE UNDERMENTIONED FoREIGN GrEEN Fruits and Vegetables sold Wholesale THROUGHOUT THE YeAR IN LoNDON, WITH THE Proportion sold Ketail in the Streets. Quantity sold Proportion sold Description. wholctate in retail in the London. the streets. FRUIT. Apples . . . 39,561 bush. seven- eighth 8. Pears . . . 19,742 „ seven- eighths. Cherries . . 264,240 lbs. two- thirds. Grapes . . . 1,328,190 „ one- fiftieth. Pine-apples 200,000 fruit one-tenth. Oranges . . . 61.635,146 „ one- fourth. Lemons . . . 15,408,789 „ one-hundredth. NUTS. Spanish Nuts 1 . Barcelona ,, J 72,509 bush. one- third. Brazil „ . . 11,700 „ one- fourth. Chestnuts . . 26,250 „ one-fourth. Walnuts. . . 36,088 „ two- thirds. "Coker"-nuts. l,255,000nuts one-third. vegetables. Potetoes . . . 79,654,4001bs. one -half. Here, then, we have the entire metropolitan supply of the principal vegetables and green fruit (both home grown and foreign), as well as the relative quantity "distributed" throughout London by the costermongers ; it now but remains for me, in order to complete the ac- count, to do the same for " the dry fruit" Table, showing the Quantity of " Dry " Fruit sold wholesale in London throughout the Year, with the pro- portion Sold retail in the Streets. Description. Shell Al- monds . Raisins . . Currants . Figs. . . Prunes . , Quantity sold wholesale in London. 12,500 cwt 135,000 „ 250,000 „ 21,700 „ 15,000 „ Proportion sold re- tail in the streets. half per cent, quarter per cent. none. one per cent. quarter per cent Of the Fruit and Vegetable Season of the Costermongers. The strawberry season begins about June, and continues till about the middle of July. From the middle to the end of July the costers " work" raspberries. During July cherries are "in" as well as raspberries; but many costers prefer working raspberries, because " they're a quicker sixpence." After the cherries, they go to work upon plums, which they have about the end of August Apples and pears come in after the plums in the month of September, and th6 apples last them all through the winter till the month of May. The pears last only till Christ* mas. Currants they work about the latter end of July, or beginning of August Concerning the costermonger's vegetable sea- son, it may be said that he "works" greens during the winter months, up to about March ; from that time they are getting "leathery," the leaves become foxy, I was told, and they eat tough when boiled. The costers generally do not like dealing either in greens or turnips, " they are such heavy luggage," they say. They would sooner "work" green peas and new potatoes. The costermonger, however, does the best at fruit; but this he cannot work — with the ex- ception of apples — for more than four months in the year. They lose but little from the fruit spoiling. "If it doesn't fetch a good price, it must fetch a bad one," they say ; but they are never at a great loss by it They find the " ladies" their hardest or " scaliest " customers. Whatever price they ask, they declare the " ladies " will try to save the market or " gin" penny out of it, so that they may have " a glass of something short" before they go home. Of Covent Garden Market. On a Saturday — the coster's business day — it is computed that as many as 2,000 donkey-barrows, and upwards of 3,000 women with shallows and head-baskets visit this market during the fore- .loon. About six o'clock in the morning is the best time for viewing the wonderful restlessness of the place, for then not only is the " Garden" itself all bustle and activity, but the buyers and sellers stream to and from it in all directions, filling every street in the vicinity. From Long Acre to the Strand on the one side, and from Bow-street to Bedford- street on the other, the ground has been seized upon by the market-goers. As you glance down any one of the neighbour- ing streets, the long rows of carts and donkey- barrows seem interminable in the distance. They are of all kinds, from the greengrocer's taxed cart to the coster's barrow — from the showy excursion- van to the rude square donkey- cart and bricklayer's truck. In every street they are ranged down the middle and by the kerb-stones. Along each approach to the market, too, nothing is to be seen, on all sides, but vegetables; the pavement is covered with heaps of them waiting to be carted ; the flag- stones are stained green with the leaves trodden tmder foot ; sieves and sacks full of apples and potatoes, and bundles of brocoli and rhubarb, are left unwatched upon almost every door- step ; the steps of Covent Garden Theatre are covered with fruit and vegetables ; the road is blocked up with mountains of cabbages and titmips; and men and women push past with their arms bowed out by the cauliflowers imder them, or the red tips of carrots pointing from their crammed aprons, or else their faces are red with the weight of the loaded head-basket The donkey-barrows, from their number and singularity, force you to stop and notice them. Every kind of ingenuity has been exercised to Digitized by Google 82 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. construct harness for the costers' steeds ; where a buckle is wanting, tape or string make the fastening secure; traces are made of rope and old chain, and an old sack or cotton handker- chief is folded up as a saddle-pad. Some few of the barrows make a magniticent exception, and are gay with bright brass ; while one of the donkeys may be seen dressed in a suit of old plated carriage-harness, decorated with coronets in all directions. At some one of the coster con- veyances stands the proprietor, arranging hjs goods, the dozing animal starting up from its sleep each time a heavy basket is hoisted on tlie tray. Others, with their green and white and red load neatly arranged, are ready for starting, but the coster is finishing his breakfast at the cof!ee- stall. On one barrow there may occasionally be seen a solitary sieve of apples, with the horse of some neighbouring cart helping himself to the pippins while the owner is away. The men that take charge of the trucks, whilst the costers visit the market, walk about, with their arms full of whips and sticks. At one comer a donkey has slipped down, and lies on the stones covered with the cabbages and apples that have fallen from the cart. The market itself presents a beautiful scene. In the cle4r morning air of an autumn day the whole of the vast square is distinctly seen from one end to the other. The sky is red and goldoji with the newly-risen sun, and tlie rays falling on the fresh and vivid colours of the fruit and vegetables, brightens up the picture as with a coat of varnish. There is no shouting, as at other markets, but a low murmuring hum is heard, like the sound of the sea at a distance, and through each entrance to the market the crowd sweeps by. Under tlie dark Piazza little bright dots of gas-lights are seen burning in the shops; and in the paved square the people pass and cross each other in all directions, ham- pers clash together, and excepting the carters feom the country, every one is on the move. Soinetimes a huge column of baskets is seen in the air, and walks away in a marvellously steady manner, or a monster railway van, laden with sieves of fruit, and with the driver perched up on liis high seat, jolts heavily over the stones. Cabbages are piled up into sfiicks as it were. Carts are heaped high with turnips, and bunches of carrots like huge red fingers, are seen in all directions. Flower-girls, with large bundles of violets under their anns, run past, leaving, a trail of perfume belund them. Wagons, with their shafts sticking up in the aii, are ranged before the salesmen's shops, the high green load railed in with hurdles, dud evenr here and there bunches of turnips are seen flying in the air over the heads of the people. Groups of apple- women, with straw pads on their crushed bon- nets, and coarse shawls crossing their bosoms, bit on their porter's knots, chatting in Irish, and smoking short pipes ; every passer-by is hailed witli the cry of, "Want a baskit, ver honor ? " The porter, trembling mider the piled- up hamper, trots along the street, with his teeth clenched and shirt wet with the weight, and staggering at every step he takes. Inside, the market all is bustle and confusion. The people walk along with their eyes fixed on the goods, and frowning with thought Men in all costumes, from the coster in his corduroy suit to the greengrocer in his blue apron, sweep past A countryman, in an old straw hat and dusty boots, occasionally draws down the anger of a woman for walking about with his hands in the pockets of his smock-frock, and is asked, " if that is the way to behave on a market- day?" Even the granite pillars cannot stop the crowd, for it separates and rushes past them, like the tide by a bridge pier. At every turn there is a fresh odour to sniff at; either the bitter aromatic perfume of the herbalists' shops breaks upon you, or the scent of oranges, then of apples, and then of onions is caught for an instant as you move along. The brocoli tied up in square packets, the white heads tinged slightly red, as it were, with tlie sunshine, — the sieves of crimson love-apples, polished like china, — the bundles of white glossy leeks, their roots dangling like fringe, — the celery, with its pinky stalks and bright green tops, — the dark purple pickling- cabbages, — the scarlet carrots, — the white knobs of turnips, — the bright yellow balls of oranges, and the rich brown coats of die chesnuts — attract the eye on every side. Then there are the apple-merchants, with their fruit of all colours, from tlie pale yellow green to the bright crimson, and the baskets ranged in rows on the pavement before the little shops. Round these the customers stand examining the stock, then whispering together over their bargain, and counting their money. '* Give you four shillings for this here lot, master," says a coster, speaking for his three companions. " Four and six is my price," answers the salesman. '* Say four, and it's a bargain," continues the man. " I said my price," returns the dealer; "go and look round, and see if you can get 'em cheaper ; if not, come back. I only wants what's fair." The men, taking the salesman's advice, move on. The walnut mer- chant, with the group of women before his shop, peeling the fruit, their fingers stained deep brown, is busy with the Irish purchasers. The onion stores, too, are surrounded by Hibernians, feel- ing and pressing the gold-coloured roots, whose dry skins crackle as they are handled. Cases of lemons in their white paper jackets, and blue grapes, just seen above the sawdust are ranged about, and in some places the ground is slip- pery as ice from the refuse leaves and walnut husks scattered over the pavement Against the railings of St Paul's Church are hung baskets and slippers for sale, and near the public-house is a party of countrymen pre- paring their bunches of pretty coloured grass — brown and glittering, as if it had been bronzed. Between the spikes of the railing are piled up square cakes of green turf for larks ; and at tlie pump, boys, who probably have passed the pre- vious right in the baskets about the market, arc Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, 83 washing, and the water dripping from their hair that hangs in points over the face. The kerb- stone is blocked up by a crowd of admiring lads, gathered round the bird-catcher's green stand, and gazing at the larks beating their breasts against their cages. The owner, whose boota are red with tlie soil of the brick-field, shouts, as he looks carelessly around, " A cock linnet for tuppence," and then hits at the youths who are poking through the bars at the flutter- ing birds. Under the Piazza the costers purchase their flowers (in pots) which they exchange in the streets for old 'clothes. Here is ranged a small garden of flower-pots, the musk and mignonette smelling sweetly, and the scarlet geraniums, with a perfect glow of coloured air about the flowers, standing out in rich contrast with the dark green leaves of the evergreens behind them. '* There's myrtles, and larels, and boxes," says one of the men selling them, "and there's a harbora witus, and lauristiners, and that bushy shrub with pink spots is heath." Men and women, selling different articles, walk about under the cover of the colonnade. One has seed- cake, another small- tooth and other combs, others old caps, or pig's feet, and one hawker of knives, razors, and short hatchets, may occa- sionally be seen driving a bargain with a country- man, who stands passing his thumb over the blade to test its keenness. Between the pillars are the coflfee-stalls, with their large tin cans and piles of bread and butter, and protected from the wind by paper scicciio aiid sheets thrown over clothes-horses; inside these little parlours, as it were, sit the coffee-drinkers on chairs and benches, some with a bunch of cabbages on their laps, blowing the steam from their saucers, others, with their mouths full, mimching away at their slices, as if not a moment could be lost One or two porters are there besides, seated on their baskets, breakfast- ing with their knots on tlieir heads. As you walk away from this busy scene, you meet in every street barrows and costers hurry- ing home. The pump in the market is now surrounded by a cluster of chattering wenches quarrelling over whose turn it is to water their drooping violets, and on the steps of Covent Garden Theatre are seated the shoeless girls, tying up the halfpenny and penny bundles. Of "Green" Fruit Selling in the Streets. The fruit^ selling of the streets of London is of a distinct character from that of vegetable or fish selling, inasmuch as fruit is for the most part a luxury, and the otliers are principally necessaries. There is no doubt that the consumption of fruit supplies a fair criterion of the condition of the working classes, but the costermongers, as a body of traders, are little observant, so that it is not easy to derive from them much informa- tion respecting the classes who are their cus- tomers, or as to how their custom is influenced by the circumstances of the times. One man, however, told me that during the last panic he sold hardly anything beyond mere necessaries. Other street-sellers to whom I spoke could not comprehend what a panic meant The most intelligent costers whom I con- versed with agreed that they now sold less fruit than ever to working people, but perhaps more than ever to the dwellers in the smaller houses in the suburbs, and to shopkeepers who were not in a large way of business. One man sold baking apples, but not above a peck on an average weekly, to women whom he knew to be the wives of working men, for he had heard them say, " Dear me, I didn't think it had been so late, there's hardly time to get the dumplings baked before my husband leaves work for his dinner." The course of my inquiries has shown me and many employers whom I have conversed with are of a similar opinion — that the. well-conducted and skilful artisan, who, in spite of slop 'com- petition, continues to enjoy a fair rate of wages," usually makes a prudent choice of a wife, who perhaps has been a servant in a respectable family. Such a wife is probably *' used to cooking," and will oft enough make a pie or pudding to eke out the cold meat of the Mon- day's dinner, or " for a treat for the children." With the mass of the working people, however, it is otherwise. The wife perhaps has been reared to incessant toil with her needle, and does not know how to make even a dumpling. Even if she possess as much knowledge, she may have to labour as well as her husband, and if their joint earnings enable them to have " the added pudding," there is still the trouble of making it ; and, after a weary week's work, rest is often a greater enjoyment than a gratifica- tion of the palate. Thus sometliing easily prepared, and carried off to the oven, is pre- ferred. The slop-workers of all trades never, I believe, taste either fruit pie or pudding, un- less a penny one be bought at a shop or in the street ; and even among mechanics who are used to better diet, the pies and puddings, when wages are reduced, or work grows slack, are the first things that are dispensed with. " When the morey doesn't come in, sir," one working-man said to me, " we mustn't think of puddings, but oi bread.'* A costermonger, more observant than thfc rest, told me that there were some classes to whom he had rarely sold fruit, and whom he had seldom seen buy any. Among these he mentioned sweeps, scavengers, dustmen, nighlmen, gas pipe-layers, and sewer-men, who preferred to any fruit, " something to bite in the mouth, such as a penn'orth of gin." My informant believed that this abstinence from fruit was common to all persons engaged in such offen- sive trades as fiddle-string making, gut-dress- ing for whip-makers or sausage- makers, knack- ers, &c. He was confident of it, as far as his own experience extended. It is, moreover, less common for the women of the town, of the poorer sort, to expend pence in fruit than in such things Digitized by Google 84 LONDON LABOUR JNB THE LONDON POOR. as whelks, shrimps, or winks, to say nothing of gin. Persons, whoso stomachs may be one week jaded to excess, and the next be deprived of a sufficiency of proper food, seek for stimulants, or, as they term it, " relishes." The fruit-sellers, meaning thereby those who deal principally in fniit in the season, are the more intelligent costermongers. The calcula- tion as to what a bushel of apples, for instance, will make in half or quarter pecks, puzzles the more ignorant, and they buy " second-hand," or of a middle-man, and consequently dearer. The Irish street- sellers do not meddle much with fruit, excepting a few of the very best class of them, and they " do well in it," I was told, " they have such tongue." The improvement in the quality of the fruit and vegetables now in our markets, and conse- quently in the necessaries and luxuries of the poorer classes, is very great Prizes and medals have been deservedly awarded to the skilled and persevering gardeners who have increased the size and heightened the flavour of the pine-apple or the strawberry — who have given a thinner rind to the peach, or a fuller gush of juice to the apricot,— or who have enhanced alike the bloom, the weight, and the size of the fruit of the vine, whether as regards the classic " bunch," or the individual grape. Still these are benefits confined mainly to the rich. But there is another class of growers who have rendered greater ser- vices and whose services have been compara- tively unnoticed. I allude to those gardeners who have improved or introduced our even/ day vegetables or fruit, such as now form the cheapest and most grateful and healthy enjoy- ments of the humbler portion of the community. I may instance the introduction of rhubarb, which was comparatively unknown until Mr. Myatt, now of Deptford, cultivated it tliirty years ago. He then, for the first time, carried seven bimdles of rhubarb into the Borough market Of these he could sell only three, and he took four hack with him. Mr. Myatt could not recoiled the price he received for the first rhubarb he ever sold in public, but he told me that the stalks were only about half the substance of those he now produces. People laughed at him for oflering " physic pies," but he persevered, and I have shown what the sale of rhubarb now is. Moreover, the importation of foreign " pines " may be cited as another instance of the increased luxuries of the poor. The trade in this com- modity was unknown until the year 184^2. At that period Mr. James Wood and Messrs, Clay- pole and Son, of Liverpool, imported them from the Bahamas, a portion being conveyed to Messrs. Keeling and Hunt, of London. Since that period the trade has gradually increased until, instead of 1000 pines being sent to Liver- pool, and a portion of them conveyed to Lon- don, as at first, 200,000 pines are now imported to London alone. The fruit is brought over in *• trees," stowed in numbers from ten to tliirty thousand, in galleries constructed fore and aft in the vessel, which is so extravagantly fragrant, that it has to be ventilated to abate the odour. But for this importation, and but for the trade having become a part of the costermonger's avocation, hundreds and thousands in London vould never have tasted a pine-apple. The quality of the fruit hao, I am informed, been greatly improved since it^ first introduc.ion ; the best description of "pines" which Covent- garden can supply having been sent out to graft, to increase the size and flavour of the Bahaman products, and this chiefly for the regalement of the palates of the humbler classes of London. The supply from the Bahamas is considered in- exhaustible. Pine- apples, when they were first introduced, were a rich harvest to the costennonger. They made more money "working" these than any other article. The pines cost them about 4rf. each, one with the other, good and bad together, and were sold by the co'itermonger at from Is. to Is. 6d. The public were not aware then that the pines tliey sold were " salt-water touched," and the people bought them as fast as they could be sold, not only by the whole one, but at Id. h slice, — for those who could not afford to give Is. for the novelty, had a slice as a taste for Id. The costermongers used then to have flags flying at the head of their bar- rows, and gentlefolk would stop them in the streets; indeed, the sale for pines was chiefly among " the gentry." The poorer people — sweeps, dustmen, cabmen — occasionally had pennyworths, "just for the fun of the thing;" but gentlepeople, I was told, used to buy a whole one to take home, so that all the family might have a taste. One costermonger assured me that he had taken 22s. a day during the rage for pines, when they first came up. I have before stated that when the season is in its height the costermonger prefers the vend- ing of fruit to the trafiic in either fish or vege- tables ; those, however, who have regular rounds and " a connection," must supply their customers wijh vegetables, if not fish, as well as fruit, but the costers prefer to devote themselves princi- pally 10 fruit I am unable, therefore, to draw a comparison between what a coster realises in fruit, and what in fish, as the two seasons are not contemporary. The fruit sale is, however, as I have shown in p. 54, the costermonger's harvest All the costermongers with whom I conversed represented that the greater cheapness and abundance of fruit had been anything but a benefit to them, nor did the majority seem to know whether fruit was scarcer or more plenti- ful one year than another, unless in remarkable instances. Of the way in which the introduction of foreign fruit had influenced their trade, they knew nothing. If questioned on the subject, the usual reply was, that things got worse, and people didn't buy so much fruit as they did half-a-dozen years back, and so less was sold. That these men hold such opinions must be accounted for mainly by the increase in their Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. 85 numbers, of which I have before spoken, and from their general ignorance. The fruit of which there is the readiest sale in the streets is one usually considered among the least useful — cherries. Probably, the greater eagerness on the part of the poorer classes to purchase this &uit arises from its being the first of the fresh "green" kind which our gardens supply for street-sale after the winter and the early spring. An intelligent costcrmonger sug- gested other reasons. " Poor people," he said, *'like a quantity of any fruit, and no fruit is cheaper than cherries at \d, a pound, at which I have sold some hundreds of pounds' weight I'm satisfied, sir, that if a cherry could be grown that weighed a pound, and was of a finer flavour than ever was known before, poor people would rather have a number of little ones, even if they was less weight and inferior quality. Then boys buy, I think, more cherries than other fruit; because, after they have eaten 'em, they can play at cherry-stones.* " From all I can learn, the halfpenny-worth of fruit purchased most eagerly by a poor man, or by a child to whom the possession of a halfpenny is a rarity, is cherries. I asked a man " with a good connection,'* according to his own account, as to who were his customers for cherries. He enumerated ladies and gen- tlemen ; working- people ; wagoners and carters (who " slipped them quietly into their pockets," he said) ; parlour- livers (so he called the occu- pants of parlours); maid- servants ; and sol- diers. " Soldiers." I was told, " are very fond of something for a change from their feed, which is about as regular as a prison's." The currant, and the fruit of the same useful genus, the gooseberry, are sold largely bjr the costermongers. The price of the currants is \d, or 2d. the half-pint, \d. being the more usual charge. Of red currants there is the greatest supply, but the black " go off better." The humbler classes buy a half-pint of the latter for a dumpling, and "they're reckoned," said my in- formant, " capital for a sore throat, either in jam or a pudiUng." Gooseberries are also retailed by the half-pint, and are cheaper than currants — perhaps \d. the half-pint is the average street-price. The working-classes do not use ripe gooseberries, as they do ripe currants, for dumplings, but they are sold in greater quanti- ties and may be said to constitute, when first introduced, as other productions do afterwards, the working-people's Sunday dessert. " Only you go on board a cheap pteamer to Greenwich, on a fine summer Sunday," observed a street- seller to me, " and you'll see lots of young women with gooseberries in their handkerchiefs in their laps. Servant-maids is very good cus- tomers for such things as gooseberries, for they always has a penny to spare." The costers sell green gooseberries for dumplings, and some- times to the extent of a fourth of the ripe fruit The price of green gooseberries is generally \d. a pint dearer than the ripe. When strawl)erries descend to sucli a price as places them at the costennonger's command, the whole fraternity is busily at work, and as the sale can easily be carried on by women and children, the coster's family take part in the sale, offering at the comers of streets the fra- grant pottle, with the crimson fruit just showing beneath the green leaves at the top. Of all cries, too, perhaps that of " hoboys " is the most agreeable. Strawberries, however, accord- ing to all accounts, are consumed least of all fruiu by the poor. "They like something more solid," I was told, " something to bite at, and a penny pottle of strawberries is only like a taste; what's more, too, the really good fruit never finds its way into penny pottles." The coster's best customers are dwellers in the suburbs, who purchase strawberries on a Sun- day especially, for dessert, for they think that they get them fresher in that way than by reserving them from the Saturday night, and' many are tempted by seeing or hearing them cried in the streets. There is also a good Sun- day sale about the steam-wharfs, to people going " on the river," especially when young women and children are members of a party, and likewise in the " clerk districts," as Cam- den-town and Camberwell. Very few pottles, comparatively, are sold in public-houses ; " they don't go well down with the beer at all," I was told. The city people are good customers for street strawberries, conveying them home. Good strawberries are 2d. a pottle in the streets when the season is at its height Inferior are \d. These are the most frequent prices. In rasp- berries the coster does little, selling them only to such customers as use them for the sake of jam or for pastry. The price is from 6rf. to \s. 6d. the pottle, 9d. being the average. The great staple of the street trade in green fruit is apples. These are first sold by the travelling costers, by the measure, for pies, &c., and to the classes I have described as the makers of pies. The apples, however, are soon vended in penny or halfpenny- worths, and then they are bought by the poor who have a spare penny for the regalement of their children or themselves, and they are eaten without any preparation. Pears are sold to the same classes as are apples. The average price of apples, as sold by the costcrmonger, is 4«. a bushel, and six a penny. The sale in halfpenny and penny- worths is very great Indeed the costermongers sell about half the apples brought to the mar- kets, and I was told that for one pennyworth of apples bought in a shop forty were bought in tlie street. Pears are 9d. a bushel, generally, dearer than apples, but, numerically, they run more to the bushel. The costers purchase the French apples at the wharf, close to London-bridge, on the South wark side. They give 10s. j 12*., 18*., or 20*. for a case containing four bushels. They generally get from 9d. to 1«. profit on a bushel of English, but on the French apples they make a clear profit of from 1*. Zd. to 2*. a bushel, and would make more, but the fruit some- Digitized by Google 86 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, times ** turns out damaged." lliis extra profit is owing to the French giving better measure, their four bushels being about five market bushels, as there is much straw packed up with the English apples, and none with the French. rlums and damsons are less purchased by the humbler classes than apples, or than any other larger sized fruit wliich is supplied abundantly. " If I've worked plums or damsons," said an experienced costermonger, " and have told any woman pricing them : ' They don't look so ripe, but they're all the better for a pie," she's an- swered, ' O, a plum pie's too fine for Ua, and wliat's more, it takes too much sugar.' " They are sold principally for desserts, and in penny- worths, at \d. the half-pint for good, and \d. for inferior. Green-gages are 50 per cei.t higher. Some costers sell a cheap lot of plums to the eating-house keepers, and sell them more readily than they sell apples to the same parties. West Indian pine-apples are, as regards the street sale, disposed of more in the city than elsewhere. They are bought by clerks and warehousemen, who carry them to their sub- urban homes. The slices at \d. and Irf. are bought principally by boys. The average price of a " good street pine " is 9rf. Peaches arc an occasional sale with the cos- termongers', and are disposed of to the same classes- as purchase strawberries and pines. The street sale of peaches is not practicable if the price exceed Irf. a piece. Of other fruits, vended largely in the streets, I have spoken under their respective heads. The returns before cited as to the quantity of home-grown and foreign green fruit sold in London, and the proportion disposed of by the costermongers give the following results (in round numbers), as to the absolute quantity of the several kinds of green fruit (oranges and nuts excepted) '* distributed" throughout the metropolis by the street- sellers. 343,000 bushels of apples, (home-grown) 34,560 apples, (foreign) 17G.500 pears, (home-gro>vn) 17,235 pears, (foreign) 1,039,200 lbs. of cherries, (home-growii) 176.160 „ cherries, (foreign) 11,766 bushels of plums, 100 greengages, 5*8 damsons, 2,450 bullacea, 207,525 „ gooseberries, of red currants, 85,500 sieves 13.500 black currants, 3,000 white currants. 763,750 pottles of strawberries. 1,762 raspberries. 30,485 nmlbcrries, 6,012 bushe! s of hazel nuts. 17,280 lbs. of filberts, 26,563 grapes. 20,000 pines. Of the Orange and Nut Market. In Houndsditch there is a market supported principally by costermongers, who there pur- chase their oranges, lemons, and nuts. This market is entirely in the hands of the Jews; and although a few tradesmen may attend it to buy grapes, still it derives its chief custom from the street- dealers who say they can make far better bargains with the Israelites, (as they never refuse an offer,) than they can with the Covent- garden salesmen, who generally cling to their prices. This market is known by the name of '* Duke's- place," although its proper title is St. James' s-place. The nearest road to it is through Duke's- street, and the two titles have been so confounded that at length the mistake has grown into a custom. Duke's- place — as the costers call it — is a large square yard, "with the iron gates of a synagogue in one comer, a dead wall forming one entire side of the court, and a gas-lamp on a circular pavement in the centre. The place looks as if it were devoted to money-making — for It is quiet and dirty. Not a gilt letter is to be seen over a doorway ; there is no display of gaudy colour, or sheets of plate-glass, such as we see iu a crowded thoroughfare when a cus- tomer is to be caught by show. As if the merchants knew their trade was certain, they are content to let the London smoke do their painter's work. On looking at the shops in this quarter, the idea forces itself upon one tliat they are in the last stage of dilapidation. Never did property in Chancery look more ruinous. Each dwelling seems as though a fire had raged in it, for not a shop in the market has a window to it ; and, beyond the few sacks of nuts exposed for sale, they are empty, the walls within being blackened with dirt, and the paint without blistered in the sun, while the door-posts are worn round with the shoulders of the customers, and black as if charred. A few sickly hens wander about, turning over the heaps of dried leaves that the oranges have been sent over in, or roost the time away on the shafts and wheels of the nearest truck. Ex- cepting on certain days, there is little or no business stirring, so that many of the shops have one or two shutters up, as if a death had taken place, and the yard is quiet as an inn of court At a little distance the warehou.'^cs, with their low ceilings, open fronts, and black sides, seem like dark holes or coal-stores ; and, but for the mahogany backs of chairs showing at the first floors, you would scarcely believe the houses to be inhabited, much more to be elegantly furnished as they are. One of the drawing-rooms that I entered here was warm and red with morocco leather, Spanish maho- gany, and curtains and Turkey carpets; while the ormolu chandelier and the gilt frames of the looking-glass and pictures twinkled at every point in the fire-light. The householders in Duke's-place are all of th? Jew ish pcrstmsion, and among the costers a Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOH. 87 saying has sprung up about it When a man has been out of work for some time, he is said to be " Cursed, like a pig in Duke's-place." Almost every shop has a Scripture name over it, and even the public-houses are of the Hebrew faith, their signs appealing to the followers of those trades which most abound with Jews. There is the "Jeweller's Arms," patronised greatly of a Sunday morning, when the Israelite jewellers attend to exchange their trinkets and barter amongst themselves. Very often the counter before "the bar" here maybe seen cov- ered with golden ornaments, and sparkling with precious stones, amounting in value to thousands of pounds. The landlord of this house of call is licensed to manufacture tobacco and cigars. There is also the " Fishmongers' Arms," the resort of the vendors of fried soles ; here, in the evening, a concert takes piftce, the performers and audience being Jews. The landlord of this liouse too is licensed to manufacture tobacco and cigars. Entering one of these houses I foiuid a bill announcing a " Bible 1o be raffled for, the property of ." And, lastly, there is " Benjamin's Coffee-house," open to old clothesmen ; and here, again, the proprietor is a licensed tobacco-manufacturer. These facts are mentioned to show the untiring energy of the Jew when anything is to be gained, and to give an instance of the curious manner in wliich this people support each other. Some of the nut and orange shops in Duke's-place it would be impossible to de- scribe. At one sat an old woman, with jet- black hair and a wrinkled face, nursing on infant, and watching over a few matted baskets of nuts ranged on a kind of carpenter's bench placed upon the pavement. The interior of the house was as empty as if it had been to let, excepting a few bits of harness hanging against the wall, and an old salt-box nailed near the gas-lamp, in which sat a hen, " hatching," as I was tolcL At another was an excessively stout Israelite mother, with crisp negro's hair and long gold earrings, rolling hei child on the table used for sorting the nuts. Here tlie Dlack walls had been chalked over with scores, and every corner was filled up with sacks and orange- cases. Before one warehouse a family of six, from the father to the infant, were busy washing walnuts in a huge tub with a trap in the side, and around them y^ere ranged measures of the wet fruit The Jewish women are known to make the fondest parents ; and in Duke's-place there certainly was no lack of fondlings. Inside almost every parlour a child was either being nursed or romped with, and some little things were being tossed nearly to the ceiling, and caught, screaming with enjoyment, in the jewel- led hands of the delighted mother. At other shops might be seen a circle of three or four women — some old as if grandmothers, grouped admiringly round a hook-nosed infant, tickling it and poking their fingers at it in a frenzy of auction. The counters of these shops arc generally placed in the open streets like stalls, and the shop itself is used as a store to keep the stock in. On these counters are ranged the large matting baskets, some piled up with dark- brown polished cliestnuts — shining like a racer's neck — otlicrs filled with wedge-shaped Brazil-nuts, and rough hairy cocoa-nuts. There are heaps, too, of newly-washed walnuts, a few showing their white crmnpled kernels as a sample of their excellence. Before every doorway are long pot- bellied boxes of oranges, with the yellow fruit just peeping between the laths on top, and lemons — yet green — are ranged about in their paper jackets to ripen in the air. In front of one store the paving- stones were soft with the sawdust emptied from the grape- cases, and the floor of the shop itself was whitened with the dry powder. Here stood a man in a long tasselled smoking-cap, puffing with his bellows at the blue bunches on a tray, and about him were the boxes with the paper lids thrown back, and the round sea-green berries just rising above the sawdust as if floating in it Close by, was a group of dark- eyed women bending over an orange-case, pick- ing out the rotten from the good fruit, while a callow- complexioned girl was busy "with her knife scooping out the damaged parts, until, what with sawdust and orange-peel, the air smelt like the- pit of a circus. Nothing could be seen in this strange place that did not in some way or another, appertain to Jewish customs. A woman, with a heavy gold chain round her neck, went past carrying an old green velvet bonnet covered with feathers, and a fur tippet, that she had either recently purchased or was about to sell. Another woman, whose features showed her to be a Gentile, was hua^•ying toward the slop-shop in the Minories with a richly quilted satin-lined coat done up in her shawl, and the market -basket by her side, as if the money due for the work were to be spent directly for housekeeping. At the corner of Duke's-street was a stall kept by a Jew, who sold 'hings that are eaten only by the Hebrews. Here in a yellow pie- dish were pieces of stewed apples floating in a thick puce-coI^ured sauce. One man that I spoke to told me that he considered his Sunday morning's work a very bad one if he did not sell his five or six hundred bushels of imts of difierent kinds. He had taken 150/. that day of the street-sellers, and usually bold his 100/. worth of goods in a morn- ing. Many others did the same as liimself. Here I met with every attention, and was furnished witli some valuable statistical information con- cerning the street-trade. Of Orange and Lemon Selling in the Streets. Of foreign friiits, the oranges and nuts supply by far the greater staple for the street trade, and, therefore, demand a brief, but still a fuller, notice than other articles. Oranges were first sold in the streets at the Digitized by Google 88 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, close of Elisabeth's reign. So rapidly had the trade increased, that four years after her death, or in 1607, Ben Jonson classes " orange -wives," for noisiness, with " fish- wives." These women at first carried the oranges in baskets on their heads ; barrows were afterwards used ; and now trays are usually slung to the shoulders. Oranges are brought to this country in cases or boxes, containing from 500 to 900 oranges. From official tables, it appears that between 250,000,000 and 300,000,000 of oranges and lemons are now yearly shipped to England. They are sold wholesale, principally at public sales, in lots of eight boxes, tlie price at such sales varying greatly, according to the supply and the quality. The supply continues to arrive from October to August. Oranges are bought by the retailers in Duke's- place and in Coven t- Garden; but the coster- mongers nearly all resort to Duke's-place, and the shopkeepers to Covent- Garden. They are sold in baskets of 200 or 300 ; they are also dis- posed of by the hundred, a half-hundred being the smallest quantity sold in Duke's-placc. These hundreds, however, number 110, contain- ing 10 double "hands," a single hand being 5 oranges. The j)rice in December was 2s. 6rf., 3». 6d., and 4». the hundred. They are rarely lower than 4*. about Christmas, as there is then a better demand for them. The damaged oranges are known as *' specks," and the purchaser runs the risk of specks forming a portion of the con- tents of a basket, as he is not allowed to empty it for the exaniination of the fruit: but some salesmen agree to change the specks. A month after Christmas, oranges are generally cheaper, and become dearer again about May, when there is a grreat demand for the supply of the fairs and races. Oranges are sold by all classes connected with the fruit, flower, or vegetable trade of the streets. The majority of the street-sellers are, however, women and children, and the great part of these are Irish. It has been computed that, when oranges are "at their best" (generally about Easter), there are 4,000 persons, including stall- keepers, selling oranges in the metropolis and its suburbs ; while there are generally 3,000 out of this number "working" oranges — that is, hawking them from street to street : of these, 300 attend at the doors of the tlieatres, saloons, &c. Many of those "working" the theatres confine their trade to oranges, while the other dealers rarely do so, but unite with them the sale of nuts of some kind. Those who sell only oranges, or only nuts, are mostly children, and of the poor- est class. The smsdiness of the sum required to provide a stock of oranges (a half-hundred being 15rf. or 18rf.), enables the poor, who catmot raise " stock-money " sufficient to purchase any- thing else, to trade upon a few oranges. The regular costers rarely buy oranges until the spring, except, perhaps, for Sunday after- noon sale—though this, as I said before, they mostly object to. In the spring, however, they stock tlieir barrows with oranges. One man told me that, four or five years back, he had sold in a day 2,000 oranges that he picked up as a bargain. They did not cost him half a farthing each ; he said he " cleared 21. by the spec." At the same period he could earn 5s. or 6s. on a Sunday afternoon by the sale of oranges in the street ; but now he could not earn 2s, A poor Irishwoman, neither squalid in ap- pearance nor ragged in dress, though looking pinched and wretched, gave me the subjoined account; when I saw her, resting with her basket of oranges near Coldbath-fields prison, she told me she almost wished she was inside of it, but for the " childer." Her history was one conunon to her. class — " I was brought over here, sir, when I was a girl, but my -father and mother died two or three years after. I was in service then, and very good service I continued in as a maid-of- all- work, and very kind people I met ; yes, indeed, though I was Irish and a Catholic, and they was English Protistants. I saved a little money there, and got married. My husband's a la- bourer; and when he's in full worruk he can earn 12*. or 14*. a week, for he's a good hand and a harrud-worruking man, and we do mid- dlin* thin. He's out of worruk now, and I'm forced to thry and sill a few oranges to keep a bit of life in us, and my husband nunds the childer. Bad as I do, I can do Irf. or 2d. a day profit betther thaji him, poor man ! for he's tall and big, and people thinks, if he goes round with a few oranges, it's just from idleniss; and the Lorrud above knows he'll always worruk whin he can. He goes sometimes whin I'm harrud tired. One of us must stay with the childer, for the youngist is not three and the ildest not five. We don't live, we starruve. We git a few 'taties, and sometunes a plaice. To- day I *ve not taken Sd. as yit, sir, and it's past three. Oh, no, indeed and indeed, thin, I dont make 9d, a day. We live accordingly, for there's 1*. 3d. a week for rint I have very little harrut to go into the public-houses to sill oranges, for they begins flying out about the Pope and Car- dinal Wiseman, as if I had anything to do with it, .\nd that's anotlier reason why I like my husband to stay at home, and me to go out, be- . cause he's a hasty man, and might get into throuble. I don't know what will become of us, if times don't turn." On calling upon this poor woman on the fol- lowing day, I found her and her children absent The husband had got employment at some dis- tance, and she had gone to see if she could not obtain a room 3d. a week cheaper, and lodge near the place of work. According to the Board of Trade returns, there are nearly two hundred millions of oranges annually imported into this country. About one-third of these are sold wholesale in London, and one-fourth of the latter quantity dis- posed of retail in the streets. The returns I have procured, touching the London sale, prove that no less than 15.500,000 are sold yearly by the street-sellers. The retail price of these may be Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDOS POOR. 89 said to be, upon an average, 5s. per 110, and this would give us about 35,000/. for the gross sum of money laid out every year, in the streets, in the matter of oranges alone. The street lemon-trade is now insignificant, lemons having become a more important article of commerce since the law required foreign- bound ships to be provided with lemon-juice. The street-sale is chiefly in the hands of the Jews and the Irish. It does not, however, call for special notice here. Op Nut Selling in the Streets. The sellers of foreign hazel nut^ are principally women and children, but the stall-keepers, and oftentimes the costermongers, sell them with other ** goods." The consumption of them is immense, the annual export from Tarragona being liUle short of 8,000 tons. They are to be found in every poor shop in London, as well as m the large towns ; they are generally to be seen on every street-stall, in every country vil- lage, at every fair, and on every race-ground. The supply is from Gijon and Tarragona. The Gyon nuts are the " Spanish," or " fresh" nuts. They are sold at public sales, in barrels of three bushels each, the price being from 355. to 405. The nuts from Tarragona, whence comes the great supply, are known as " Barcelonas," and they are kiln-dried before they are shipped. Hence the Barcelonas will "keep," and the Spanish will not The Spanish are coloured with tlie fumes of sulphur, by the Jews in Buke's-place. It is somewhat remarkable that nuts supply employment to a number of girls in Spain, and then yield the means of a scanty subsistence to a number of girls (with or without parents) in England. Tlie prattle and the laughter (according to Inglis) of the Spanish girls who sort, find no parallel however among the London girls who sell the nuts. The appearance of the latter is often wretched. In the winter months they may be seen as if stupified with cold, and with the listlessness, not to say apathy, of those whose diet is poor in quantity and insufficient in amoimt Very few costermongers buy nuts (as hazel nuts are always called) at the public sales— only those whose dealings are of a wholesale charac- ter, and tliey are anything but regular attendants at the sales. The street- sellers derive nearly the whole of their supply from Duke's- place. The principal times of business are Friday afternoons and Sunday mornings. Those who have " capital" buy on the Friday, when they say they can make IO5. go as far as 125. on the Sunday. The " Barcelonas" are from 4Jrf. to 6d. a quart to the street-sellers. The cob-nuts, which are the large size, used by the pastry- cooks for mottos, &c., are 2d. and 2^d. the quart, but they are generally destitute of a kernel. A quart contains from 100 to 180 nuts, ac- cording to the size. The costermongers buy somewhat largely when nuts are Sd. the quart ; they tlien, and not unfrequently, stock their barrows with nuts entirely, but 25. a day" is reckoned excellent earnings at this trade. " It's the worst living of all, sir," I was told, "on nuts." The sale in the streets is at the fruit- stalls, in the public-houses, on board the steamers, and at the theatre doors. They are sold by the same class as the oranges, and a stock may be procured for a smaller sum even than is required for oranges. By the outlay of I5. many an Irishwoman can send out her two or three children with nuts, reserving some for herself. Seven-eighths of the nuts imported are sold, I am assured, ii\ the open air. Some of the costermongers who are to be found in Battersea-flelds, and who attend the fairs and races, get through 5s. worth of nuts in a day, but only exceptionally. These men have a sort of portable shooting-gallery. The cus- tomer fires a kind of rifle, loaded with a dart, and according to the number marked on the centre, or on the encircling rings of a board which forms the head of the stall, and which may be struck by the dart, is the number of nuts payable by the stall-keeper for the half- penny ** fire." The Brazil nuts, which are now sold largely in the streets at twelve to sixteen a penny, were not known in this coimtry as an article of com- merce before 1824. They are sold by the peck — 2*. being the ordinary price — in Buke's-place. CokeNnuts— as they are now generally called, and indeed '♦ entered " as such at the Custom- house, and so written by Mr. Mc Culloch, to distinguish them from cocoa, or the berries of the cacfto, used for chocolate, etc. — are brought from the West Indies, both British and Spanish, and Brazil. They are used as dunnage in the sugar ships, being interposed between the hogsheads, to steady them and prevent their being flung about. The coker- nut was introduced into England in 1690. They are sold at public sales and otherwise, and bring from IO5. to 145. per 100. Coker-nuts are now used at fairs to " top" the sticks. The costermongers rarely speculate in coker- nuts now, as the boys will not buy them unless cat, and it is almost impossible to tell how the coker-nut will *' open." The interior is sold in halfpenny-worths and penny-worths. These nuts are often " worked with a drum." There may be now forty coker-nut men in the street trade, but not one in ten confines himself to the article. A large proportion of the dry or ripe walnuts sold in the streets is from Bordeaux. They are sold at public sales, in barrels of three bushels each, realising 2l5. to 255. a barreL They are retailed at from eight to twenty a penny, and are sold by all classes of street-traders. A little girl, who looked stunted and wretched, and who did not know her age (which might be eleven), told me she was sent out by her mother with six halfpenny-worth of nuts, and she must carry back 6d. or she would be beat She had no father, and could neither read nor write. Digitized by Google 90 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, Iler mother was au Englishwoman, she believed, and sold oranges. She had heard of God ; he was " Our Father who art in heaven," She'd heard that said. She did not know the Lord's Prayer; had never heard of it; did not know who the Lord was ; perhaps the Lord Mayor, but she had never been before him. She went into public-houses with her nuts, but did not know whether she was ever insulted or not ; she did not know what insulted was, but she was never badly used. She often went into tap- rooms with her nuts, just to warm herself. A man once gave her some hot beer, which made her ill. Her mothef was kind enough to her, and never beat her but for not taking home 6d. She had a younger brother that did as she did. She had bread and potatoes to eat, and some- times tea, and sometimes herrings. Her mother didn't get tipsy (at first she did not know what was meant by tipsy) above once a week. Of Roasted Chestnuts and Apples. How long the street-trade in roasted chestnuts has been carried on I find no means of ascer- taining precisely, but it is unquestionably one of the oldest of the public traffics. Before potato- cans were introduced, the sale of roasted chestnuts was far greater than it is now. It is difficult to compute the number of roasted chestnut- sellers at present in the streets. It is probable that they outnimiber 1,000, for I noticed that on a cold day almost every street fruit- seller, man or woman, had roasted chest- nuts for sale. Sometimes the chestnuts are roasted in the streets, in a huge iron apparatus, made ex- pressly for the purpose, and capable of cooking perhaps a bushel at a time — but these are to be found solely at the street-markets. The ordinary street apparatus for roasting chestnuts is simple. A round pan, with a few holes punched in it, costing Sd. or id. in a marine-store shop, has burning charcoal within it, and is surmounted by a second pan, or kind of lid, contaimng chestnuts, which are thus kept hot During my inquiry, chestnuts were dear. " People don't care," I was told, " whether chestnuts is three and six, as they are now, or one and six a peck, as I hope they will be afore long; they wants the same pennyworths." Chestnuts are generally bought wholesale in Duke's-place, on the Sunday mornings, for street sale ; but some street-dealers buy them of those costermongers, whose means enable them "to lay in" a quantity. The retail customers are, for the most part, boys and girls, or a few labourers or street people. The usual price is sixteen a penny. Roasted apples used to be vended in the itreets, and often along with roasted chestnuts, but it is a trade which has now almost entirely disappeared, and its disappearance is attributed to the- prevalence of potato cans. I haid the following account from a woman, apparently between sixty and seventy, tholigh ■be said she was only about fifty. What she was in her youth, she said, she neither knew nor cared. At any rate she was unwilling to converse about it. I found her statement as to chestnuts corroborated : — "The trade's nothing to what it was, sir," she said. " Why when the hackney coaches was in the streets, I've often sold 2*. worth of a night at a time, for a relish, to the hackneymen that was waiting their turn over their beer. Six and eight a penny was enough then ; now people must have sixteen; though I pays Ss. a peck, and to get them at that's a favour. I could make my good 125. a week on roasted chestnuts and apples, and as nmch on other things m them days, but I'm half-starved now. There'll never be such times again. People didn't want to cut one another's throats in the street busi- ness then. O, I don't know anything about how long ago, or what year — years is nothing to me — but I only know that it was so. I got a penny a piece then for my roasted apples, and a hal^enny for sugar to them. I cmild live then. Roasted apples was reckoned good for the tooth- ache in them days, but, people change so, they aren't now. I don't know what I make now in chestnuts and apples, which is all I sells — perhaps 5s. a week. My rent's Is. Zd. a week. I lives on a bit of fish, or whatever I can get, and that's all about it." The absolute quantity of oranges, lemons, and nuts sold annually in Uie London streets is as follows : Oranges 15,400,000 Lemons 154,000 Spanish and Barcelona nuts 24,000 bushels Brazil do 3,000 „ Chestnuts 6,500 „ Walnuts 24,000 „ Coker-nuts 400,000 nuU Of "Dry" Fruit Selling in the Streets. The sellers of "dry fruit" cannot be described as a class, for, with the exception of one old couple, none that I know of confine themselves to its sale, but resort to it merely when the season prevents their dealing in "green fruit" or vegetables. I have already specified what in commerce is distinguished as " dry fruit," but its classification among the costers is somewhat narrowed. The dry-fruit sellers derive their supplies partly from Duke's- place, partly from Pudding- lane, but perhaps principally from the costers concerning whom I have spoken, who buy wliole- sale at the markets and elsewhere, and who will " clear out a grocer," or buy such figs, &c. as a leading tradesman will not allow to be sent, or oftered, to his regular customers, altliough, per- haps, some of the articles are tolerably good, dr else the dry-fruit men buy a damaged lot of a broker or grocer, and pick out all that is eatable, or rather saleable. The sale of dry fruit is unpopular among the costennongers. Despite their utmost pains, thev cannot give to figs, or raisins, or currants, which may be old and stale, anything of the bloom and Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. 91 plumpness of good fruit, and the price of good fruit is too high for them. Moreover, if the fruit be a "damaged lot," it is almost always discoloured, and the blemish cannot be re- moved. It is impossible to give the avernge price of dry fruit to the costermonger. The quality and the " harvest " affect the price materially in the regular trade. The rule which I am informed the coster- monger, who sometimes "works" a barrow of dried fruit, observes, is this : he will aim at cent, per cent,, and, to accomplish it, " slang " weights arc not unfrequently used. The stale fruit is sold by the grocers, and the damaged fruit by the warehouses to the costers, at from a half, but much more frequently a fourth to a twentieth of its prime cost. The principal street-purchasers are boys. A dry-fruit seller gave me the following account: — By " half profits " he meant cent per cent., or, in other words, that the money he re- ceived for his stock was half of it cost price and half profit " I sell dry fruit, sir, in February and March, because I must be doing something, and green fruit's not my money then. It's a poor trade. I've sold figs at Id. a pound, — no, sir, not slang the time I mean — and I could hardly make 1*. a day at it, though it was half profits. Our customers look at them quite particler. * Let's see the other side of them figs,' the boys '11 say, and then they'll out with—' I say, master, d' you see any green about me?' Dates I can hardly get oil at all, no!— not if they was as cheap as potatoes, or cheaper. I've been asked by women if dates was good in dumplings? I've sometimes said ' yes,' though I knew nothing at all about thc-m. They're foreign. I can't say where they're grown. Almonds and raisins goes off best with us. I don't sell them by weight, but makes them up in ha'penny or penny lots. There's two things, you see, and one helps off the other. Raisins is dry grapes, I've heard. I've sold grapes before they was dried, at Id. and 2d. the pound. I didn't do no good in any of *em ; Is. a, day on 'em was the topper, for all the half profits. I'll not touch 'em again if I aint forced." There ar^a few costers who sell tolerable dry fruit, but not to any extent. The old couple I have alluded to stand all the year round at the corner of a street running into a great city thoroughfare. They are sup- plied with their fruit I am told, through the friendliness of a grocer who charges no profit, and sometimes makes a sacrifice for their benefit As I was told that this old couple would not like ipquiries to be made of them, I at once desisted. There are sometimes twenty costermohgers selling nothing but dry fruit but more fre- ' quently only ten, and sometimes only five; while, perhaps, from 300 to 400 sell a few fi^s, &c., with other things, such as late apples, the dry fruit being then used "just as a fill up." According to the returns before given, the gross quantity of dry fruit disposed of yearly in the streets of London may be stated as follows : 7,000 lbs. of shell almonds, 37,800 „ raisins, 24,300 „ figs, 4,200 „ prunes. Of the Street-sale of Yeoetables. The seller of fruit in the streets confines his tialfic far more closely to fruit, tlian does the vegetable- dealer to vegetables. Within these three or four years many street- traders sell only fruit the year tlirough; but the purveyor of vegetables now usually sells fish with his cab- bages, turnips, cauliflowers, or other garden stuff The fish that he carries out on liis round generally consists of soles, mackerel, or fresh or salt herrings. This combination of the street- green-grocer and street- fishmonger is called a general dealer." The general dealers are usually accompanied by boys (as I have elsewhere shown), and some- times by their wives. If a woman be a general dealer, she is mostly to be found at a stall or standing, and not " going a round." The general dealer "works" everything through the season. He generally begins the year with sprats or plaice : then he deals in soles until the month of May. After this he takes to mackerel, haddocks, or red herrings. Next he trades in strawberries or raspberries. From these he will turn to green and ripe goose- berries; thence he will go to cherries; from cherries he will change to red or white cur- rants ; from them to plums or green-gages, and from tliem again to apples and pears, and dam- sons. After these he mostly "works" a few vegetables, and continues with tliem until the fish season begins again. Some general dealers occasionally trade in sweetmeats, but this is not usual, and is looked down upon by the " trade." " I am a general dealer," said one of the better class ; " my missis is in the same line as myself, and sells everything that I do (barring green stuff) She follows me always in what f sell. She has a stall, and sits at the corner of the street I have got three children. The eldest is ten, and goes out with me to call my goods for me. I have had inflammation in the lungs, and when I call my goods for a little while my voice leaves me. 2viy missis is lame. She fell down a cellar, when a cliild, and injured her hip. Last October twelvemonth I was laid up with cold, which settled on my lungs, and laid me in my bed for a month. My missis kept me all that time. She was ' working ' fresh herrings ; and if it hadn't been for her we must all have gone into the workhouse. We are doing very badly now. I have no work to do. I have no stock-money to work with, and I object to pay Is. 6rf. a week for the loan of 10*. Once I gave a man Is. ^d. a week for ten months for the loan of 10*., and that nearly did me up. I Digitized by Google 92 LOSDOS LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, have had 8*. of the same party since, and paid Is. a week for eight weeks for the loan of it I consider it most extortionate to have to pay 2d. a day for the loan of 8*., and won't do it AVhen the season gets a bit better I shall borrow a shilling of one friend and a shilling of another, and tlien muddle on with as much stock-money as I can scrape together. My missis is at home now doing nothing. Last week it's impossible to say what she took, for we're obliged to buy victuals and firing with it as we take it She can't go out charing on account of her hip. When she is out, and I am out, the children play about in the streets. Only last Saturday week she was obligated to take the shoes off' her feet to get the children some victuals. We owe two weeks' rent, and the landlord, though I've lived in the house five years, is as sharp as if I was a stranger." *' Why, sir," said another vegetable-dealer, who was a robust-looking young man, very clean in his person, and dressed in costennongcr corduroy, ** I can hardly say what ray business is worth to me, for I'm no scholard. I was brought up to the business by my mother. I've a middling connection, and perhaps clear 3*. a day, every fine day, or 15«. or 16*. a week; but out of that there's my donkey to keep, which I suppose costs 6d. a day, that's seven sixpences off. " Wet or fine, she must be fed, in coorse. So must 1 • but I've only myself to keep at present, and I hire a lad when I want one. I work my own trap. Then things is so uncertain. AVhy, now, look here, sir. Last Friday, I think it was — but that don't matter, for it often happens — fresh herrings was 4«. the 500 in the morning, and Is. Gd. at night, so many had come in. I buy at nillingsgate-market, and sometimes of a largo shopkeeper, and at Covent-garden and the Borough. If I lay out 7s. in a nice lot of cab- bages, I may sell them for 10*. 6rf., or if it isn't a lucky day with me for 8*., or less. Sometimes people won't buy, as if tlie cholera was in the cabbages. Then turnips isn't such good sale yet, but they may be soon, for wnter's best for them. There's morebilings then tlian there's roastings, I think. People like broth in cold weather. I buy turnips by the * tally.' A tally's five dozen bunches. There's no confinement of the number to a bunch; it's by their size; I've known twelve, and I've known twice that I sell three parts of the turnips at Id. a bunch, and the other part' at Hd. If I get them at 3s. 6d. the tally I do well on turnips. I go the same rounds pretty regularly every day, or almost every day. 1 don't object to wet weather so much, because women don't like to stir out then, and so they'll buy of me as I pass. Carrots I do little in ; they're dear, but they'll be cheaper in a month or two. They always are. I don't work on Sundays. If I did, I'd get a jacketing. Our chaps would say : * Well, you are a scurf You have a roimd ; give another man a Sunday chance.' A gentleman once said to me, when I was obligated to work on a Sunday: * Why don't you leave it off, when you know it ain't right?' 'Well, sir,' said I, and he spoke very kind to me, * well, sir, I'm working for my dinner, and if you'll give me 4*. or 3*. 6^., I'll tumble to your uotion and drop it, and I'll give you these here cowcumbers,' (I was working cowcumbers at that time) * to do what you like with, and they cost me half- a- crown.' In potatoes I don't do a great deal, and it's no great trade. If I did, I should buy at the warehouses in Tooley- street, where they are sold in sacks of 1 cwt ; 150 lbs. and 200 lbs., at 2*. 9d. and 3*. the cwt I sell mine, tidy good, at 3 pomid 2 and vegetables j £026,420 Tiien adding the above to the gross amount received by the street- sellers of fish, which we have before seen comes to as much as £1,460,850, we have- for the annual income of the London costermongers no less a sum than £2,087,270. OF THE STATIONARY STREET-SELLERS OF FISH, FRUIT, AND VEGETABLES. Of the Number of Street Stalls. Thus far we have dealt only with the itinerant dealers in ilsh, fruit, or vegetables ; but there are still a large class of street-sellers, who obtain a living by the sale of the same articles at some fixed locality in the public thoroughfares ; and as these difler from the others in certain points, they demand a short special notice here. First, as to the number of stalls in the streets of Lon- don, I caused personal observations to be made ; and in a walk of 46 miles, 632 stalls were counted, which is at the rate of very nearly 14 to the mile. This, too, was in bad weather, — was not on a Saturday night, — and at a season when the fruit- sellers all declare that "things is dull." The routes taken in this inquiry were : — No. 1, from Vauxhall to Hatton- garden ; No. 2, from Baker- street to Bermondsey ; No. 3, from Blackwall to Brompton ; No. 4, from the Hackney-road to the Edgeware-road- I give the results. F. FR. v. M. T. No. 1. . 9 28 5 7 49 » 2. . 37 50 4 14 105 „ 3. . 90 153 30 40 313 » 4. . 75 52 23 15 165 211 283 62 76 632 F. denotes fish- stalls ; Fr. fruit- stalls ; V. vegetable- stalls ; M. miscellaneous ; and T. presents the total : The miscellaneous stalls include {leas-soup, pickled whelks, sweetmeats, toys, tin-ware, elder-wine, and jewellery stands. Of these, the toy- stalls were found to be the most numerous ; sweetmeats the next ; tin- ware the next ; while the elder-wine stalls were least numerous. Some of the results indicate, curiously enough, the character of the locality. Thus, in Fleet- street there were 3, in the Haymarket 5, in Regent- street 6, and in Piccadilly 14 fruit- stalls, and no fish-stalls — these streets not being resorted to by the poor, to whom fruit is a luxury, but fish a necessity. In the Strand were 17 fruit and 2 fish-stalls; and in Drury-lane were 8 stalls of fish to 6 of fruit. On the other hand, there were in RatclifFe- high- way, 38 fish and 23 fruit-stalls ; in Rosemary- lane, 13 fish and 8 fruit- stalls; in Shoreditch, 28 fish and 13 fruit-stalls ; and in Bethnal- green Road (the poorest district of all), 14 of the fish, and but 3 of the fruit stalls. In some places, the numbers were equal, or nearly so ; as in the Minories, for instance, the City-road, the New-road, Goodge- street, Tottenham-court Road, and the Camberwell-road ; while in Smithfield were 5, and in Cow-cross 2 fish- stalls, and no fruit-stalls at all. In this enu- meration the street- markets of Leather-lane, the New Cut, the Brill, &c., are not included. The result of this survey of the principal London thoroughfares is that in the mid-route (viz., from Brompton, along Piccadilly, the Strand, Fleet- street, and so vid the Commercial- road to Blackwall), there are twice as many stalls as in the great northern thoroughfare (that is to say, from the Edgeware-road, along the New-road, to the Hackney-road) ; the latter route, however, has more than one- third as many stalls as route No. 2, and that again more than double the number of route No. 1. Hence it appears that the more frequented the thorough- fare, the greater the quantity of street-stalls. The number of miles of streets contained within the inner police district of the metropolis, are estimated by the authorities at 2,000 (in- cluding the city), and assuming that there are on an average only four stalls to the mile throughout London, we have thus a grand total of 8,000 fish, fruit, vegetable, and other stalls dispersed throughout the capital. Concerning the character of the stalls at the street- markets, the following observations have been made : - At the New-cut there were, be- fore the removals, between the hours of eight aud ten on a Saturday evening, ranged along the kerb-stone on the north side of the road, beginning at Broad-wall to Marsh-gate (a dis- tance of nearly half-a-mile), a dense line of "pitches" — at 77 of which were vegetables for sale, at 40 fruit, 25 fish, 22 boots and shoes, 14 ! eatables, consisting of cakes and pies, hot eeU, baked potatoes, and boiled whelks; 10 dealt in nightcaps, lace, ladies' collars, artificial flowers, I silk and straw bonnets ; 10 in tinware— such as I saucepans, tea-kettles, and Dutch-ovens ; 9 in j crockery and glass, 7 in brooms and brushes, 5 in poultry and rabbits, 6 in paper, books, songs, I and almanacs ; and about 60 in sundries. Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. 97 THE iniSn STREET-SELLEK. * S\7cct Chany ! Two a pinny Or-r-rr.ngcs— two a pinny !" [From a Daffucrrcohjpc Inj Leard.] Digitized by Google Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, Of the Character of the SiAeet- Stalls. The stalls occupied by costermongers for the sale of fish, fruit, vegetables, &c, are chiefly constructed of a double cross-trestle or moveable frame, or else of two trestles, each with three legs, upon which is laid a long deal board, or tray. Some of the stalls consist merely of a few boards resting upon two baskets, or upon two herring- barrels. The fish-stalls are mostly covered with paper— -generally old newspapers or periodicals — but some of the street-fishmongers, instead of using paper to display their fish upon, have intro- duced a thin marble slab, which gives tlie stall a cleaner, and, what they consider a high attri- bute, a "respectable" appearance. Most of the firuit-sulis are, in the winter time, fitted up with an apparatus for roasting apples and chestnuts ; this generally consists of an old saucepan with a fire inside; and the woman who vends them, huddled up in her old faded shawl or cloak, often presents a picturesque appearance, in the early evening, or in a fog, with the gleam of the fire lighting up her half somnolent figure. Within the last two or three years, however, there has been so large a business carried on in roasted chestnuts, that it has become a distinct street- trade, and the vendors have provided themselves with an iron apparatus, large enough to roast nearly half a bushel at a time. At the present time, however, the larger apparatus is less common in the streets, and more frequent in the shops, than in the previous wmter. There are, moreover, peculiar kinds of stalls — such as the hot eels and hot peas-soup stalls, having tin oval pots, with a sniall chafing-dish containing a charcoal fire underneath each, to keep the eels or soup hot The early breakfast stall has two capacious tin cans filled with tea or cofifee, kept hot by the means before described, and some are lighted up by two or three large oil-lamps ; the majority of these stalls, in the winter time, are sheltered from the wind by*a screen made out of an old clothes horse covered with tarpaulin. The cough-drop stand, vnth its distilling apparatus, the tin worm curling nearly the whole length of the tray, has but lately been introduced. The nut- stall is fitted up with a target at the back of it The ginger-beer stand may be seen in almost every street, with its French- polished mahogany frame and bright polished taps, and its foot-bath-shaped reservoir of water, to cleanse the glasses. The hot elder wine stand, with its bright brass urns, is equally popular. ITie sellers of plum-pudding, " cake> a penny a slice," sweetmeats, cough-drops, pin-cusnions, jewellery, chimney ornaments, tea and table- spoons, make use of a table covered over, some with old newspapers, or a piece of oil-cloth, upon which are exposed their articles for sale. Such is the usual character of the street- stalls. There are, however, "stands" or "cans" peculiar to certain branches of the street-trade. The most important of these^ such as the baked- potatoe can, and the meat- pie stand, I have before described, p. 27. The other means adopted by the street-sellers for the exhibition of their various goods at certain "pitches" or fixed localities are as follows. Straw bonnets, boys* caps, women's caps, and prints, are generally arranged for sale in large umbrellas, placed " upside down." Haberdashery, with rolls of ribbons, edgings, and lace, some street-sellers display on a stall ; whilst others have a board at the edge of the pavement, and expose their wares upon it as tastefully as they can. Old shoes, patched up and well blacked, ready for the purchaser's feet, and tinware, are often ranged upon tlie ground, or, where the stock is small, a stall or table is used. Many stationary street- sellers use merely baskets, or trays, either supported in their hand, or on their arm, or else they are strapped round their loins, or suspended round their necks. These are mostly firuit-women, watercress, black- ing, congreves, sheep's- trotters, and ham-sand- wich sellers. Many stationary street-sellers stand on or near the bridges ; others near the steam-packet wharfs or the railway terminuses ; a great number of them take their pitch at the entrance to a court, or at the comers of streets ; and stall-keepers with oysters stand opposite the doors of public- houses. It is customary for a street-seller who wants to " pitch" in a new locality to solicit the leave of the housekeeper, opposite whose premises he desires to place his stall. Such leave obtained, no other course is necessary. Of Fruit-stall Keepers. I had the following statement from a woman who has " kept a stall" in Marylebone, at the comer of a street, which she calls " my comer," for 38 years. I was referred to her as a curious type of the class of stall-keepers, and on my visit, found her daughter at the "pitch." This daughter had all the eloquence which is attrac- tive in a street-seller, and so, I found, had her mother when she joined us. They are profuse in blessings; and on a bystander observing, when he heard th^ name of these street- sellers, that a jockey of that name had won the Derby lately, the daughter exclaimed, " To be sure he did ; he's my own uncle's relation, and what a lot of money came into the family ! Bless God for all things, and bless every body ! Walnuts, sir, walnuts, a penny a dozen ! Wouldn't give you a bad one for the world, which is a great thing for a poor 'oman for to ofi*er to do." The daughter was dressed in a drab great-coat, which covered her whole person. When I saw the mother, she carried a similar great- coat, as she was on her way to the stall ; and she used it as ladles do their mufib, burying her hands in it The moUier's dark-coloured old clothes seemed, to borrow a description from Sir Walter Scott, flung on with a pitchfork. These two women were at first very suspicious, and could not be made to understand my object in questioning Digitized by Google 100 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. them ; but after a little while, the mother be- came not only commmiicative, but garruiouB, conversing — with no small impatience at any interruption — of the doings of tne people in her neighbourhood. I was accompanied by an in- telligent costermonger, who assured me of his certitude that the old woman's statement was perfectly correct, and I found moreover from other inquiries that it was so. " Well, sir," she began, " what is it that you want of me ? Do I owe you anything ? There's half- pay officers about here for no good ; what is i t you want ? Hold your tongue, you young fool,' ' (to her daughter, who was beg^inning to speak ;) " what do you know about it ? " [On my satis- fying her that I had no desire to injure her, she continued, to say after spitting, a common prac- tice with her class, on a piece of money, ** for luck,"] " Certainly, sir, that's very proper and good. Aye, I've seen the world — the town world and the country. I don't know where I was bom ; never mind about that — ifs nothing to nobody. I don't know nothing about my father and mother; but I know tnat afore I was eleven I went through the country with my missis. She was a smuggler. I didn't know then what smuggling was — bless you, sir, 1 didn't; I knew no more nor I know who made that lamp-post I didn't know the taste of the stuff we smuggled for two years— didn't know it from small beer; I've known it well enough since, God knows. My missis made a deal of money that time at Dept- ford Dockyard. The men wasn't paid and let out till twelve of a night^ — I hardly mind what night it was, days was so alike then— and they was our customers till one, two, or three in the morning — Sunday morning, for anything I know. I don't know what my missis gained ; something jolly, there's not a fear of it She was kind enough to me. I don't know how long 1 was with missis. After that I was a hopping, and made my I5t, regular at it, and a haymak- ing ; but I've had a pitch at my comer for thirty- eight year— aye ! tumed thir^-eight It's no use asking me what I made at nrst— I can't tell ; but I'm sure I made more than twice as much as my daughter and me makes pow, the two of us. I wish people that thinks we're idle now were wiUi me for a day. I'd teach them. I don't — that's the two of us don't— make 16*. a week now, nor the half of it, when all's paid. D— d if I do. The d— d boys take care of that" [Here I had a statement of the boys' tradings, similar to what I have given.] ** There's ' Canterbury' has lots of boys, and they bother me. I can tell, and always could, how it is with working men. When mechanics is in good work, their children has halfpennies to spend with me. If they're hard up, there's no nalQ>ennies. The pennies go to a loaf or to buy a candle. I might have saved money once, but had a misfortunate family. My husband ? O, never mind about him. D — n him. I've been a widow many years. My son — it's nothing how many children I have — ^is married; he had the care of an ingine. But he lost it froiB ill health. It was in a fearer- house, and the flue got down his throat, and coughed him ; and so he went into the country, 108 miles off, to his wife's mother. But his wife's mother got her living by wooding, and other ways, and couldn't help him or his wife ; 80 he left, and he's with me now. He has a job sometimes with a greengrocer, at 6^ a day and a bit of g^rub ; a little bit — very. I must shelter him. I couldn't turn him out If a Turk I knew was in distress, and I had only half a loaf^ I'd give him half of that, if he was ever such a Turk — I would, sir ! Out of 6tL a day, my son — poor fellow, he's only twenty- seven ! — wants a bit of 'baccy and a pint of beer. It 'ud be unnatural to oppose that, wouldn't it, sir? He frets about his wife, thafs staying with her mother, 108 miles off; and about his little girl ; but I tell him to wait, and he may have more little girls. God knows, they come when they're not wanted a bit I joke and say all my old sweethearts is dying away. Old Jemmy went off sudden. He lent me money sometmies, but I always paid him. He had a public once, and had some money when he died. I saw him die day afore he died. He was in bed, but wasn't his own man quite; though he fpoke sensible enough to me. He said, said he, * Won't you have half a quartem of rum, as we've often had it ? ' * Certainly, Jemmy,' says I, * I came for that very thing.' Poor fellow I his friends are auarrelling now about what he left It's 56^ ley say, and they'll go to law very likely, and lose every thing. There'll be no such quarrel- ling when I die, unless it is for the pawn-tickets. I get a meal now, and got a meal afore ; but it was a better meal then, sir. Then look at my expenses. I was a customer once. I used to buy, and plenty such did, blue cloth aprons, opposite Drury-lane theatre: the very shop's there still, but I don't know what it is now; I can't call to mind. I gave 2*. 6d. a yard, fiym twenty to thirty years ago, for an apron, and it took two yards, and I paid 4^. for making it, and so an apron cost 6s, 4rf. — that wasn't much thought of in those times. I used to be different off then. I never go to church ; I used to go when I was a little child at Sevenoaks. I suppose I was bom somewhere thereabouts. I've mrgot what the inside of a church is like. There's no costermongers ever go to church, except the rogues of them, that wants to appear good. I buy my fruit at Covent-garden. Apples IS now 4«. 6d. a bushel there. I may make twice that in selling them ; but a bushel may last me two, three, or four days." As I have already, under the street-sale of fish, given an account of the oyster stall-keeper, as well as the stationary dealers in sprats, and Che principal varieties of wet fish, there is no neces- sity for me to continue this part of my subject We have now, in a measure, finished with the metropolitan costermongers. We have seen that the street-sellers of fish, fruit, and vegetables Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, 101 constitute a large proportion of the London po- pulation ; the men, women, and children num- bering at the least 30,000, and taking as much as 2,000,000/. per annum. We have seen, more- over, that these are the principal purveyors of food to tlie poor, and that consequently they are as important a body of people as they are numerous. Of all classes they should be the most honest, since the poor, least of all, can afibrd to be cheated ; and yet it has been shown that the consciences of the London costermon- gers. generally speaking, are as little developed as their intellects ; indeed, the moral and reli- gious state of these men is a foul disgrace to us, laughing to scorn our zeal for the " propagation of the gospel m foreign parts," and making our many societies for the civilization of savages on the other side of the globe appear like a "delusion, a mockery, and a snare," when we have so numy people sunk in the lowest depths of barbarism round about our very homes. It is well to have Bishops of New Zealand when we have Christianized all our oum heathen ; but with 80,000 individuals, in merely one of our cities, utterly creedless, mindless, and principle- less, sorely it would look more like earnestness on our parts if we created Bishops of the New- Cut, and sent *' right reverend fathers" to watch over the " cure of souls " in the Broadway and the Brill. If our sense of duty will not rouse us to do this, at least our regard for our own inte- rests should teach us, that it is not safe to allow this vast dungheap of ignorance and vice to seethe and fester, breeding a social pestilence in the very heart of our land. That the coster- mongers belong essentially to the dangerous classes none can doubt ; and those who know a coster's hatred of a "crusher," will not hesitate to believe that they arc, as they themselves con- fess, one and all ready, upon the least disturb- ance, to seize and disable their polieemai.. It would be a marvel indeed if it were other- wise. Denied the right of getting a living by the street authorities, after having, perhaps, been supplied with the means of so doing by the parish authorities — the stock which the one had {>rovided seised and confiscated by the other — aw seems to them a mere &rce, or at best, but the exercise of an arbitrary and despotic power, against which they consider themselves justi- fied, whenever an opportunity presents itself, of using the same physical force as it brings to bear against them. That they are ignorant and vicious as they are, surely is not their fault If we were all bom with learning and virtue, then might we, with some show of justice, blame the costermongers for their want of both ; but seeing that even the most moral and intelligent of us owe the greater part, if not the whole, of our wisdom and goodness to the tuition of others, we must not in the arrogance of our self-conceit condemn these men because they are not like ourselves, when it is evident that we should have been as they are, had not some one done for us what we reftise to do for them. We leave them destitute of all perception of beauty, and there- fore without any means of pleasure hut through their appetites, and then we are surprized to find their evenings are passed either in brutal- izing themselves with beer, or in gloating over the mimic sensuality of the "penny gaflSl " Without the least intellectual culture is it Ukely, moreover, that they should have that perception of antecedents and consequents which enables us to see an the shadows of the past the types of the future— or that power of projecting the mind into tlie space, as it were, of time, which we in Saxon-EngHsh call fore-sight, and in Anglo-Latin pro-vidence — a power so godlike that the latter tenn is often used by us to ex- press the Godhead itself? Is it possible, then, that men who are as much creatures of the present as the beasts of the field — instinctless animals — should have the least faculty of pre- vision 1 or rather is it not natural that, following the most precarious of all occupations— one in which the subsistence depends upon the weather of this the most variable climate of any — they should fail to make the afiluence of the fine days mitigate the starvation of the rainy ones ? or that their appetites, made doubly eager by the privations suffered in their adversity, should be indulged in all kinds of excess in their prosperity — their lives being thus, as it were, a scries of alternations between starvation and surfeit ? The fate of children brought up amid the iniluence of such scenes— with parents starving one week and drunk all the next— turned loose into the streets as soon as they are old enough to run alone — sent out to sell in public-houses almost before they know how to put two half- pence together— thcirt tastes trained tolibidinism long before puberty at the penny concert, and their passions inflamed with the unrestrained intercourse of the twopenny hops — the fate of the young, I say, abandoned to the blight of such associations as these, cannot well be otlierwise than it is. If the child be father to the man, assuredly it does not require a great eflbrt of imagination to conceive the manhood that such a childhood must necessarily engender. Some months back Mr. Mayhew, with a view to mitigate what appeared to him to be tlie chief evils of a street-seller's life, founded "The Friendly Association of London Costermongers," the objects of which were as follows : 1. To establish a Benefit and Provident Fund for insuring to each Member a small weekly allowance in Sickness or Old Age, as well as a certain sum to his family at his death, so Uiat the Costermongers, when incapacitated from labour, may not be forced to seek paro- chial relief^ nor, at their decease, be left to be buried by the parish* 2. To institute a Penny Savings* Bank and Winter Fund, where the smallest deposits will be received and bear interest, so that the Cos- termongers may be encouraged to lay ly even the most trivial sums, not only as a provision for future comfort, but as the means of assisting their poorer brethren witlj future loans. Digitized by Google 102 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. 3. To form a Small Loan Fund for supply- ing the more needy Costermongers with Stock- Money, &c., at a fair and legitimate interest, instead of the exorbitant rates that are now charged. 4. To promote the use of full weights and measures by eveiy Member of the Association, as well as a rigid inspection of the scales, &c., of all other Costermongers, so that the honestly disposed Street- sellers may be protected, and the public secured against imposition. 5. To protect the Costennongers from inter- ference when lawfully pursuing their calling, by placing it m their power to employ counsel to defend them, if unjustly prosecuted. C. To provide harmless, if not rational, amusements at the same cheap rate as the pernicious entertainments now resorted to by the Street-sellers. 7. To adopt means for the gratuitous educa- tion of the children of the Costermongers, in the day time, and the men and women them- selves in the evening. Tliis institution remains at present compara- tively in abeyance, from tlie want of funds to complete tlie preliminary arrangements. Those, however, who may feel inclined to contribute towards its establishment, will please to pay their subscriptions into Messrs. Twinings' Bank, Strand, to the account of Thomas Hughes, Esq. (of 63, Upper Berkeley- street, Portman-square), who has kindly consented to act as Treasurer to the Association. Of a Public Meeting of Street-sellers. The Association above described arose out of a meeting of costermongers and other street- folk, which was held, at my instance, on the evening of the 12th of June last, in the National Hall, Holbom. The meeting was announced as one of •' street-sellers, street- performers, and street-labourers," but the costermongers were the great majority present The admission was by ticket, and the tickets, which were of course gratuitous, were distributed by men familiar with all the classes invited to attend. These men found the tickets received by some of the street- people with great distrust ; others could not be made to understand why any one should trou- ble himself on their behoof; others again, cheer- fully promised their attendance. Some accused the ticket distributors with having been bribed by the Government or the police, tliough for what purpose was not stated. Some abused them heartily, and some offered to treat them. At least 1,000 persons were present at the meeting, of whom 731 presented their tickets ; the others were admitted, because they were known to the door-keepers, and had either lost their tickets or had not the opportunity to obtain them. The persons to whom cards of admission were given were invited to write their names and callings on the backs, and the cards so received gave the following result. Costermongers, 256 ; fish- 8ellers,28; hucksters, 23; lot-sellers, 18; street- labourers, 16*; paper-sellers and workers, 13; | toy-sellers, 1 1 ; ginger-beer-sellers, 9 ; hardware- sellers, 9 ; general- dealers, 7 ; street-musicians, 5 ; street-performers, 5 ; cakes and pastry-sellers, fried-fish- vendors, and tinkers, each, 4 ; turf- ven- dors, street-exhibitors, strolling-players, cat's- meat-men, water-cress-sellers, stay-lace, and cotton-sellers, each, 3 ; board- carriers, fruit- sellers, street-tradesmen, hawkers, street-green- grocers, shell- fish- vendors, poulterers, mud- larks, wire-workers, ballad-singers, crock-men, and booksellers, each, 2 ; the cards also gave one each of the following avocations :~ fly-cage- makers, fly-paper-sellers, grinders, tripe-sellers, pattern-printers, blind-paper-cutters, lace-collar- sellers, bird-sellers, bird-trainers, pen-sellers, lucifer-merchants, watch-sellers, decorators, and play-bill-sellers. 260 cards were given in without being indorsed with any name or calling. My object in calling this meeting was to ascertain from the men themselvea what were the grievances to which they considered themselves subjected; what were the peculiarities and what the privations of a street-life. Cat-calls, and every description of discordant sound, prevailed, before the commencement of the proceedings, but there was also perfect good-humour. Al- though it had been announced that all the speakers were to address the meeting from the platform/ yet throughout the evening some man or other would occasionally essay to speak from the body of the hall. Some of those present expressed misgivings that the meeting was got up by the Government, or by Sir R. Peel, and that policemen, in disguise, were in attendance. The majority showed an ignorance of the usual forms observed at public meetings, though some manifested a thorough imderstanding of them. Nor was there much delicacy observed — but, perhaps, about as much as in some assem- blages of a different character — in clamouring down any prosy speaker. Many present were without coats (for it was a warm evening), some were without wustcoats, many were in tatters, hats and caps were in infinite varieties of shape and shade, while a few were well and even genteelly dressed. The well dressed street- sellers were nearly all yoimg men, and one of these wore moustachios. After I had explained, amidst frequent questions and interruptions, the purpose for which I had summoned the meet ing, and had assured the assembly that, to the best of my knowledge, no policemen were pre- sent, I invited free discussion. It was arranged that some one person should address the meeting as the representative of each particular occupation. An elderly man of small stature and lively intelligent features, stood up to speak on behalf of the "paper- workers," "flying-stationers," and "standing- patterers." He said, that " for twenty- four years he had been a penny-showman, a street-seller, and a patterer." He dwelt upon the difference of a street-life when he was young and at the present time, the diflference being between meals and no meals; and complained that though Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. 108 he had heen well educated, had friends in a respectable way of life, and had never been accused of any dishonesty, such was the moral brand," of having been connected with a "street life, that it was never got rid of. He more than once alluded to this " moral brand." ITic question was, he concluded^ in what way were they to obtain an honest livelihood, so as to keep their wives and children decently, witliout being buffeted about like wild beasts in the open streets ? This address was charac- terised by propriety in the delivery, and by the absence of any graitmiatical inaccuracy, or vul- garity of tone or expression. A costermonger, a quiet-looking man, tidily clad, said he was the son of a country auctioneer, now dead; and not having been brougbt up to any trade, he came to London to try his luck. His means were done before he could obtain em- ployment ; and he was m a state of starvation. At last he was obliged to apply to the parish. The guardians took him into the workhouse, and offered to pass him home : but as he could do no good there, he refused to go. Whereupon, giving him a pound of bread, he was turned into the streets, and had nowhere to lay his head. In wandering down the New-cut a costermon- ger questioned him, and then took him into his house and fed him This man kept him for a year and a half; he showed him how to get a living in the street trade ; and when he left, gave him 20*. to start with. With this sum he got a good living directly ; and he could do so now, were it not for the police, whose conduct, he stated, was sometimes very tyrannical. He had been dragged to the station-houfte, for standing to serve customers, though he obstructed nobody ; the policeman, however, called it an obstruction, and he (the speaker) was fined 2*. 6rf. ; where- •upon, because he had not the half-crown, his barrow and all it contained were taken from him, and he had heard nothing of them since. This almost broke him down. There was no redress for these things, and he thought they ought to be looked into. This man rooke witli considerable energy; and when he had concluded, many costennongers shouted, at the top of their voices, that they could substantiate every word of what he had said. A young man, of superior appearance, said he was the son of a gentleman who had held a commission as Lieutenant in the 20th Foot, and as Captain in the 34th Infantry, and afterwards became Sub-director of the Bute Docks; in which situation he died, leavmg no property. He (the speaker) was a classical scholar ; but having no trade, he was compelled, after his father's death, to come to London in search of employment, tliinkiiig that his pen and his school acquire- ments would secure it But in this expectation he was disappointed,— though for a short period he wa« earning two guineas a week in copying documents for the House of Conunons. That time was past; and he was a street-patterer now through sheer necessity. He could say from experience that the earnings of that class were no more than from 8«. to IO5. a week, He then declaimed at some length against the inter- ference of the police with the patterers, con- sidering it harsh and unnecessary. After some noisy and not very relevant dis- cussion concerning the true amount of a street- patterer' s earnings, a clergyman of the Esta- blished Church, now selling stenographic cards in the street, addressed the meeting. He ob- sen'ed, that in every promiscuous assembly there would always be somebody who might be called imfortunate. Of this number he was one; for when, upon the 5th September, 1831, he preached a funeral sermon before a fashionable congregation, upon Mr. Huskisson's death by a railway accident, he little thought he should ever be bound over in his own recognizances in 10/. for obstructing the metropolitan thorough- fares. He was a native of Hackney, but in early life he went to Scotland, and upon the 24th Jmie, 1832, he obtained the presentation to a small extra-parochial chapel in that country, upon tlie presentation of the Rev. Dr. Bell. His people embraced Irvingism, and he was obliged to leave; and in January, 1837, he came to the metropolis. His history since that period he need not state. His occupation was well known, and he could confirm what had been stated with regard to the police. The Police Act provided, that all persons selling goods in the streets were to keep five feet off the pavement, the street not being a market He had always kept with his wares and his cards beyond the prohibited dis- tance of five feet ; and for six years and a half he had sold his cards without molesting or being molested. After some severe observations upon the police, he narrated several events in his personal histonr to accoimt for his present con- dition, which he attributed to misfortune and the injustice of society. In the course of these explanations he gave an illustration of his classical acquirements, in having detected a grammatical error in a Latin inscription upon the plate of a foundation-stone for a new church in Westminster. He wrote to the incumbent, pointing out the error, and the incmnbent asked the beadle who he was. " Oh," said the beadle, ** he is a fellow who gets his living in tlie streets." This was enough. He got no answer to his letter, though he knew the incumbent and his four curates, and had attended his church for seven years. After dwelling on the suffer- ings of those whose living was gained in the streets, he said, that if persons wished really to know an3rthing of the character or habits of life of the very poor, of whom he was one, the knowledge could only be had from a personal survey of their condition in their own homes. He ended, by expressing his hope that by better treatment, and an earnest attention — moral, social, and religious — to their condition, the poor of the streets might be gathered to the church, and to God. A "wandering musician" in a Highland garb, worn and dirty, complained at some Digitized by Google 104 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. length of the way iu which he was treated by the police. A hale-looking man, a coatermonger, of middle age — who said he had a wife and four children dependent upon him — then spoke. It was a positive fact, he said, notwithstanding their poverty, their hardships, and even their degra- dation in the eyes of some, that the first mar- kets in London were mainly supported by costermongers. What would the Duke of Bedford's market in Covent- garden be with- out them? This question elicited loud applause. Several other persons followed with state- ments of a similar character, which were listened to with interest ; but firom their general sameness it is not necessary to repeat tbem here. After occupying nearly four hours, the proceedings were brought to a close by a vote of thanks, and the •* street-sellers, performers, and labourers," separated in a most orderly manner. OF THE STREET-IRISH. The Irish street-sellers are both a numerous and peculiar class of people. It therefore be- hoves me, for the due completeness of this work, to say a few words upon their ninnbers, earn- ings, condition, and mode of life. The number of Irish street- sellers in the metro- polis has increased greatly of late years. One gentleman, who had every means of being well- informed, considered that it was not too much to conclude, that, within these five years, tlic numbers of the poor Irish people who gain a scanty maintenance, or what is rather a substi- tute for a maintenance, by trading, or begging, or by carrying on the two avocations simulta- neously in the streets of London, had been doubled in number. I found among the English costermongers a general dislike of the Irish. In fact, next to a policeman, a genuine London costermonger hates an Irishman, considering him an intruder. Whether there be any traditional or hereditary ill-feeling between them, originating from a clannish feeling, I cannot ascertain. The coster- mongers whom I questioned had no know- ledge of the feelings or prejudices of their pre- decessors, but I am inclined to believe that the prejudice is modem, and has originated in the great influx of Irishmen and women, intermix- ing, more especially during the last five years, with the costermonger* s business. An Irish costermonger, however, is no novelty in the streets of London. " From the mention of the costardmonger," says Mr. Charles Knight, ** in the old dramatists, he appears to have been frequently an Irishman." Of the Irish street- sellers, at present, it is computed that there are, including men, women, and children, upwards of 1 0,000. Assuming the street-sellers attending the Loudon fish and green markets to be, with their families, 30,000 in number, and 7 in every 20 of these to be Irish, we shall have rather more than tlie total above given. Of this large body three-fourths sell oiuy fruit, and more especially nuts and oranges ; indeed, the orange-season is called the '• Irishman's harvest" The others deal in fish, firuit, and vegetables, but these are principally men. Some of the most wretched of the street- Irish deal in such trifles as lucifer-matches, water-cresses, &c. I am informed that the great mass of these people have been connected, in some capacity or other, with the culture of the land in Ireland. The mechanics who have sought the metropohs from the sister kingdom have become mixed with their respective handicrafts in England, some of the Irish — though only a few — taking rank with the English slulled labourers. The greater part of the Irish ardzans who have arrived within the last five years are to be found among the most degraded of the tailors and shoemakers who work at the East-end for the slop-masters. A large class of the Irish who were agricul- tural labourers in their country are to be found among the meij working for bricklayers, as well as among the dock-labourers and excavators, &c. Wood chopping is an occupation greatly resorted to by the Irish in London. Many of the Irish, however, who are not regularly employed in. their respective callings, resort to the streets when they cannot obtain work otherwise. The Irish women and girls who sell fruit, &c., in the streets, depend almost entirely on that mode of trafiSc for their subsistence. They are a class not suflSciently taught to avail themselves of the ordinary resources of women in the humbler walk of life. Unskilled at their needles, working for slop employers, even at the commonest shirt-making, is impossible to them. Their ignorance of household work, moreover (for such description of work is un- known in their wretched cabins in many parts of Ireland), incapacitates them in a great measure for such employments a« ** charing," washing, and ironing, as well as from regular domestic em- ployment. Thus there seems to remain to them but one thing to do— as, indeed, was said to me by one of themselves—viz., " to iell for a ha'pinny the three apples which cost a famithing." Very few of these women (nor, indeed, of the men. though rather more of them than the wo- men) can read, and they are mostly all vrretchedly poor ; but the women present two characteristics which distinguish them from the L«ndon coster- women generally— they ere chaste, audi unlike the ** coster girls," very seldom form any con- Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. 105 nection without the sanctioii of the marriage ceremony. They are, moreover, attentive to reU- gious observances. The majority of the Trish street-sellers of both sexes beg, and often very eloquently, as they carry on their trade ; and I was further assnzed, that, but for this begging, some of them might starve outright. The greater proportion of the Irish street- sellers are from Leinster and Munster, and a considerable number come from Connaugbt Op the Causes which have made the Irish turn Costermonoers. Notwithstanding the prejudices of the Eng- lish costers, I am of opinion that the Irishmen and women who have become costermongers, belong to a better class than the Irish labourers. The Irishman may readily adapt himself, in a strange place, to labour, though not to trade ; but these costers are — or the migority at least are — poor persevering traders enough. The most intelligent and prosperous of the street- Irish are those who have "risen" — for so I heard it expressed — 'Mnto regular costers." The untaught Irishmen's capabilities, as I have before remarked, with all his powers of speech and quickness of apprehension, are far less fitted for '* bujring in the cheapest market and selling in the dearest" than for mere physical em- plovment Hence those who take to street- trading for a living seldom prosper in it, and three-fourths of the street- Irish confine their dealings to such articles as are easy of sale, like apples, nuts, or oranges, for they are rarely masters of purchasing to advantage, and seem to know little about tale or measure, beyond the most familiar quantities. Compared with an acute costermonger, the mere apple-seller is but as the labourer to the artisan. One of the principal causes why the Irish costermongers have increased so extensively of late years, is to be found in the fact that the labouring classes, (and of them chieflv the class employed in the culture of land,) have been driven over from ** the sister Isle " more thickly for the last four or five years than formerly. Several circumstances have conspired to effect this. — First, thev were driven over by the famine, when they could not procure, or beg^ to fear that soon they could not procure, food to eat Secondly, they were forced to take refuge in this country by the evictions, when their land- lords had left them no roof to shelter them in their own. (The shifts, the devices, the plans, to which numbers of these poor creatures had recourse, to raise the means of quitting Ireland for England — or for anywhere — will present a very remykable chapter at some future period.} Thirdly, though the better class of small farmers who have emigrated firom Ireland, in hopes of " bettering themselves," have mostly sought tho shores of North America, still some who have reached this country have at last settled into street- sellers. And, fourthly, many who have come over here only for the harvest have been either induced or compelled to stay. Another main cause is, that the Irish, as labourers, can seldom obtain work all the year through, and thus the ranks of the Irish street- sellers are recruited every winter by tlte slack- ness of certain periodic trades in which they are largely employed— such as hodmen, dock- work, excavating, and the like. They ar*, therefore, driven by want of employment to the winter sale of oranges and nuts. These cir- cumstances have a doubly malefic efiTect, as the increase of costers accrues in the winter months, and there are consequently the most sellers when there are the fewest buyers. Moreover, the cessation of work in the con- struction of railways, compared with the abund- ance of emplo3rment which attracted so many to this country during the railway mania, has been another fertile cause of there being so many Irish in the London streets. The prevalence of Irish women and children among street-sellers is easily accoimted for — they are, as I said before, unable to do anything else to eke out the means of their husbands or parents. A needle is as useless in their fingers as a pen. Bitterly as many of these people sufiTer in this country, grievous and often eloquent as are their statements, I met with notie who did not manifest repugnance at ther suggestion of a return to Ireland. If asked why they objected to return, the response was usually in Uie form of a question: '* Shure thin, sir, an? •what good could I do there?" Neither can say that I heard any of these people express any love for their country, though they often spoke with great affection of their friends. From an Irish costermonger, a middle-aged man, with a physiognomy best known a^ " Irish," and dressed in corduroy trousers, with a loose great-coat, far too big for him, buttoned about liim, I had the following statement : ** I had a bit o' land, yer honor, in County Limerick. Well, it wasn't just a farrum, nor what ye would call a garden here, but my father lived and died on it— glory be to God! — and brought up me and my sister on it. It was about an acre, and the taties was well known to be good. But the sore times came, and the taties was afflicted, and the wife and me— I have no childer — hadn't a bite nor a sup, but wather to live on, and an igg or two. I filt the famine a-oomin'. I saw people a-feedin' ontlie wild green things, and as T had not such a bad take, I got Mr. (he was the head master's agent) to give me 28«. for possission in quiet- ness, and I sould some poulthry I had— their iggs was a blessin' to keep the life in us— I sould them in Limerick for 3*. 3rf.— the poor things — four of them. The furnithur' I sould to the naborsy for somehow about 6s. Its the thrulh I'm ay-teUm' of you, sir, and there's 2*. owin' of it still, and will be a perpitual loss. The wife and me walked to Dublin, though we had betther have gone by the 'long say,' but I didn't under- Digitized by Google 106 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR stand it thin, and we got to Liverpool. Then sorrow's the taste of worruk could I git, beyant oncte Ss. for two days harrud porthering, that broke my back half in two. I was tould I'd do betther in London, and so, glory be to God I I have — perhaps I have. I knew Mr. , he porthers at Co vent- garden, and I made him out, and hilped him in any long distance of a job. As I'd been used to farrumin' I thought it good raison I should be a costermonger, as they call it here. I can read and write too. And some good Christian— the heavens light him to glory when he's gone! — I don't know who he was — advanced me 10*. — or he gave it me, so to spake, through Fatlier ," (a Roman Catholic priest.)" We carrun what keeps the life in us. I don't go to markit, but buy of a fair dealin' man — so I count him — though he's harrud sometimes. I can't till how many Irishmen is in the thrade. There's many has been brought down to it by the famin' and the changes. I don't go much among the English street-dalers. They talk like haythens. I never miss mass on a Sunday, and they don't know what the blissed mass manes. I'm almost glad I have no childer, to see how they're raired here. Indeed, sir, they're not raired at all — they run wild. They haven't the foar of God or the saints. They'd hang a praste — glory be to God ! they would.'- How THE Street-Irish displanted the Street-Jews in the Oranoe Trade. The Jews, in the streets, while acting as cos- termongers, never " worked a barrow,'* nor dealt in the more ponderous and least pro- fitable articles of the trade, such as turnips and cabbages. They however, had, at one period, the chief possession of a portion of the trade which the "regular hands" do not consider proper costermongering, and which is now chiefly confined to the Irish — viz. : orange selling. The trade was, not many years ago, confined almost entirely to the Jew boys, who kept aloof from the vagrant lads of the streets, or mixed with them only in the cheap theatres and concert-rooms. A person who had had great experience at what was, till recently, one of the greatest " coaching inns," told me that, speaking within his own recollection and from his own observation, he thought the sale of oranges was not so much in the hands of the Jew lads until about forty years back. The orange monopoly, so to speak, was established by the street- Jews, about 1810, or three or four years previous to that date, when recruiting and local soldiering were at their height, and when a great number of the vaga- bond or "roving" population, who in one capacity or other now throng the streets, were induced to enlist The young Jews never entered the ranks of the army. Tlie streets were thus in a measure cleared for them, and the itinerant orange-trade fell almost entirely into their hands. Some of the young Jews gained, I am assured, at least 100/. a year in this traffic The numbers of coimtry people who hastened to London on the occasion of the Allied Sove- reigns' visit in 1814 — many wealthy persons then seeing the capital* for the first time — afforded an excellent market to these dealers. Moreover, the perseverance of the Jew orange boys was not to be overcome ; they would follow a man who even looked encouragingly at their wares for a mile or two. The great resort of these Jew dealers — who eschewed night-work generally, and left the theatre-doors to old men and women of all ages — was at the coaching inns ; for year by year, after the peace of 1815, the im- provement of the roads and . the consequent increase of travellers to London, progressed. About 1825, as nearly as my informant could recollect, these keen young traders began to add the sale of other goods to their oranges, press- ing them upon the notice of those who were leaving or visiting London by the diflferent coaches. So much was this the case, that it was a common remark at that time, that no one could reach or leave the metropolis, even for the shortest ioumey, without being expected to be in urgent want of oranges and lemons, black- lead pencils, sticks of sealing-wax, many- bladed pen-knives, pocket-combs, razors, strops, braces, and sponges. To pursue the sale of the last-mentioned articles — they being found, I presume, to be more profitable — some of the street-Jews began to abandon the sale of oranges and lemons ; and it was upon this, that the trade was "taken up" by the wives and children of the Irish bricklayers' labourers, and of other Irish work-people then resident in London. The numbers of Irish in the metro- polis at that time began to increase rapidly; for. twenty years ago, they resorted numerously to England to gather in the harvest, and those who had been employed in contiguous counties during the autumn, made for London in the winter. " I can't say they were well off, sir," said one man to me, " but they liked bread and herrings, or bread and tea — better than potatoes without bread at home." From 1836 to 1840, I was informed, the Irish gradually superseded the Jews in the fruit traffic about the coaching-houses. One reason for this was, that they were far more eloquent, begging pathetically, and with many benedictions on their listeners. The Jews never begged, I was told ; " they were merely traders." Another reason was, that the Irish, men or lads, who had entered into the fruit trade in the coach- yards, would not only sell and beg, but were ready 40 "lend a hand" to any over-burthcned coach-porter. This the Jews never did, and in that way the people of the yard came to en- courage the Irish to the prejudice of the Jews. At present, I understand that,' with the exception of one or two in the city, no Jews vend oranges in the strecU, and that the trade is almost entu^ly in the hands of tlie Irish. Another reason why the Irish could supersede and even undersell the Jews and regular cos- termongers was this, as I am informed on e*:- Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. 107 cellent authority : — Father Mathew, a dozen vcan back, made temperance societies popular m Ireland. Many of the itinerant Irish, espe- cially the younger classes, were " temperance men." Thus the Irish could live as sparely as the Jew, but they did not, like him, squander any money for the evening's amusement, at the concert or the theatre. I inauired wliat might be the number of the Jews plying, so to speak, at the coaching inns, and was assured that it was less numerous than was generally imagined. One man computed it at 300 individuals, all under 21 ; another at only 200 ; perhaps the mean, or 250, might be about the mark. The number was natiirally considered greater, I was told, because the same set of street traders were seen over and over again. The Jews knew when the coaches were to arrive and when they started, and they would hurry, after availing themselves of a departure, from one inn — the Belle Sauvage, Ludgate-hill, for instance — to take advantage of an arrival at another — say the Saracen's Head, Snow-hilL Thus they appeared everywhere, but were the same individuals. I inquired to what calling the youthful Jews, thus driven from their partially monopolized street commerce, had devoted themselves, and was told that even when the oraage and hawk- ing trade was at the best, the Jews rarely carried it on after they were twenty-two or twenty-three, but that they then resorted to some more whole- sale calling, such as the purchase of nuts or foreign grapes, at public sales. At present, I am informed, they are more thickly than ever engaged in these trades, as well as in two new avocations, that have been established within these few years, — the sale of the Bahama pine- apples and of the Spanish and Portuguese onions. About the Koyal Exchange, Jew boys still hawk pencils, etc., but the number engaged in this pursuit throughout London is not, as far as I can ascertain, above one-eighth — if an eighth — of what it was even twelve years ago. Of the Religion of the Street-Irish. Having now given a brief sketch as to how the Irish people havo come to form so large a proportion of the London street- sellers, I shall proceed, as I did with the English costermon- gers, to furnish the reader with a short account of their religious, moral, intellectual, and phy- sical condition, so that he may be able to con- trast the habits and circumstances of the one class with those of the other. First, of the reli- gion of the Irish street-folk. Almost all the street- Irish are Roman Catho- lics. Of course I can but speak generally ; but during my inquiry I met with only two who said they were Protestants, and when I came to converse with them, I found out that they were partly ignorant of, and partly indifferent to, any religion whatever. An Irish Protestant gentle- man said to me : ** You may depend upon it, if ever you meet any of my poor countrymen who will not talk to you about religion, they either know or care nothing about it ; for the religiovs spirit runs high in Ireland, and Protestants and Catholics are easily led to converse about their faith." I found that some of the Irish Roman Catho- lics— but they had been for many years resident in England, and that among the poorest or vagrant class of the English — liad become indif- ferent to their creed, and did not attend their chapels, unless at tlie great fasts or festivals, and this they did only occasionally. One old stall- keeper, who had been in London nearly thirty years, said to me : " Ah I God knows, sir, I ought to attend mass every Sunday, but I haven't for a many years, barrin' Christmas-day and such times. But I '11 thry and go more rigular, plase God." This man seemed to re- sent, as a sort of indignity, my question if he ever attended any other place of worship. '* Av coorse not ! " was the reply. One Irishman, also a fruit-seller, with a well- stocked barrow, and without the complaint of poverty common among his class, entered keenly into the subject of his religious faith when I introduced it He was bom in Ireland, but had been in England since he was five or six. He was a good-looking, fresh - coloured man, of thirty or upwards, and could read and write well. He spoke yrithout bitterness, though zealously enough. ** Perhaps, sir, you are a giotleman connected with the Protistant clarsy," he asked, " or a missionary ? " On my statmg that I had no claim to either character, he resumed: "Will, sir, it don't matther. All the womild may know ray riligion, and I wish, all the worruld was of my riligion, and betther min in it than I am ; I do, indeed. I'm a Roman Catholic, shr ;" [here he made the sign of the cross] ; " God be praised for it ! O yis, I know all about Cardinal Wise- man. It's the will of God, I feel sure, that he's to be 'stablished here, and it's no use ribillin' against that I've nothing to say against Pro- tistints. I've heard it said, ' It's best to pray for them.' The street-people that call thim- selves Protistants are no riligion at all at all. 1 serruve Protistant gintlemen and ladies too, and sometimes they talk to me kindly about religion. They're good custhomers, and I have no doubt good people. I can't say what tlieir lot may be in another worruld for not being of the true faith. No, fidr, I'll give no opinions — none." This man gave me a clear account of his belief tliat the Blessed Virgin (he crossed him- self repeatedly as he spoke) was the mother of our Lord Jesus Christ, and was a mediator with our Lord, who was God of heaven and earth — of the duty of praying to the holy saints — of attending mass — (" but the priest," he said, " won't exact too much of a poor man, either about that or about fasting")— of going to con- fession at Easter and Christmas times, at the least— of receiving the body of Christ, "the rale prisince," in the holy sacrament — of keeping aU God's commandments-^ of pi^atory being a purgation of sins— and of heaven and helL Digitized by Google 108 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, I found the majority of those I spoke with, at least as earnest in their faith, if they were not as well instructed in it as my informant, who may be cited as an example of the better class of street-sellers. Another Irishman, — who may be taken as a type of the less informed, and who had been between two and three years in England, hav- ing been di&appointed in emigrating to America with his wife and two children, — gave me the following account, but not without considering and heftitatiug. He was a very melancholy looking man, tall and spare, and decently clad. He and his family were living upon Sd. a day, which he earned by sweeping a crossing. He had been prevented by ill health from earning 2L, which he could have made, he told me, in harvest time, as a store against winter. He had been a street-seller, and so had his wife; and she would be so again as soon as he could raise 2s. to buy her a stock of apples. He said, touching his hat at each holy name, — " Sure, yis, sir, I'm a Roman Cartholic, and go to mass every Sunday. Jesus Christ ? O yis," (hesitating, but proceeding readily after a word of prompting), *• he is the Lord our Saviour, and the Son of the Holy Virgin. The blessed saints ? Yia, sir, yis. The praate prays for them. I — I mane prays to them. O, yis. I pray to tliem mysilf ivery night for a blissin', and to rise me out of my misery. No, sir, I can't say I know what the mass is about I don't know what I'm prayin' for thin, only that it's right A poor man, that can neither read nor write — I wish I could and I might do betther— can't under- stand it ; it's aU in Latin. Iv'e heard about Cardinal Wiseman. It'll do us no good sir; it'll only set people more against ua. But it ain't poor min's fault" As I was anxious to witness the religious zeal that characterizes these people, I obtained per- mission to follow one of the priests as he made his rounds among his flock. Everywhere the people ran out to meet him. He had just re- turned to them I found, and the news spread round, and women crowded to their door-steps, and came creeping up from the cellars through the trap-doors, merely to curtsey to him. One old crone, as he passed, cried, "You're a good father, Heaven comfort you," and the boys play- ing about stood still to watch him. A lad, in a man's tail coat and a shirt-collar Uiat nearly covered in his head— like the paper round a bouquet — was fortunate enough to be noticed, and his eyes sparkled, as he touched his hair at each word he spoke in answer. At a con- versation that took place between the priest and a woman who kept a dry fish-stall, the dame excused herself for not having been up to take tea " with his rivirince's mother lately, for thrade had been so bisy, and night was the fullest time." Even as tlie priest walked along the street, boys rumiing at full speed would pull up to touch their hair, and the stall- women would rise from their baskets; while all noise— even a quarrel — ceased until he had passed by. Still there was no look of fear in the people. He called them all by tlieir names, and asked after their families, and once or twice the "father" was taken aside and held by the button while some point that required his advice was whis- pered in his ear. The religious fervour of tlie people whom I saw was intense. At one house that I entered, the woman set me marvelling at the strength of her zeal, by showing me how she contrived to have in her sitting-room a sanctuary to pray before every night and morning, and even in the day, "when she felt weary and lonesome." The room was rudely enough mmished, and the only decent table was covered with a new piece of varnished cloth ; still before a rude print of our Saviour there were placed two old plated candlesticks, pmk, with the copper shining through; and here it was that she told her beads. In her bed-room, too, was a coloured engraving of the "Blessed Lady," which she never passed vrithout curtseying to. Of course I detail these matters as mere facts, without desirinff to offer any opinion here, either as to the benefit or otherwise of the creed in question. As I had shown how the English costermonger neither had nor knew any religion whatever, it became my duty to give the reader a view of the feligion of the Irish street-sellers. In order to be able to do so as truthfully as possible, I placed myself in communication with those parties who were in a position to give me the best information on the subject The result is given above, in all the simplicity and impar- tiaBty of history. Op the Education, Literature, Amuse- ments, AND Politics of the Steeet- IRISH. These several heads have often required from me lengthened notices, but as regards the class I am now describing they may be dismissed briefly enough. The mjyority of the street-Irish whom I saw were unable to read, but I found those who had no knowledge of readmg— (and the same remark applies to the English street- sellers as well) — regret tlieir inability, and say, "I wish I could read, sir; I'd be better off now." On the other hand, those who had a knowledge of reading and writing, said fire- quenUy enough, " Why, yes, sir, I can read and write, but it's been no good to me," as if they had been disappointed in their exnectations as to the benefits attendant upon scholarsliip. I am inclined to think, however, that a greater anxiety exists among the poor generally, to have some schooling provided for their children, than was the case a few years back. One Irishman attributed this to the increased number of Roman Catholic schools, " for the more schools there are," he said, "the more people think about schooling their children." The literature, or reading, of she street- Irish is, I believe, confined to Roman Catholic books, such as the " Lives of the Saints," published in a cheap form ; one, and only one, I found with Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, 109 the " Nation *' newspaper. The very poor havtf no leisure to read. During three days spent in yisiting the slop- workers at the East end of the town, not so much as the fragment of a leaf of a book was seen. The amusements of tlie street- Irish are not those of the English costermongers — though there are exceptions, of course, to the remark. The Irish fothers and mothers do not allow their daughters, even when they possess the means, to resort to the "penny gafi^" or the "twopenny hops,'* unaccompanied by them. Some of the men frequent the beer-shops, and are inveterate drinkers and smokers too. I did not hear of any amusements popular among, or much resorted to, by the Irishmen, except dancing parties at one another's houses, where they jig and reel furiously. They frequent raffles also, but the article is often never thrown for, and the evening is spent in dancing. I may here observe — in reference to the statement that Irish parents will not expose their daughters to the risk of what they con- sider corrupt influences— that when a young Irishwoman does break through the pale of chastity, she often becomes, as I was assured, one of the most violent and depraved of, perhaps, die most depraved class. Of politics, I think, the street- Irish under- stand nothing, and my own observations in this respect were confirmed by a remark made to me by an Irish gentleman : " Their politics are either a dead letter, or the politics of their priests." The Homes of the Street-Irish. In almost all of the poorer districts of London are to be found " nests of Irish " — as they are called — or courts inhabited solely by the Irish costermongers. These people form separate colonies, rarely visiting or mingling with the English costers. It is curious, on walking through one of these settlements, to notice the manner in which the Irish deal among themselves — street-seller buying of street-seller. Even in some of the smallest courts there may be seen stalls of vegetables, dried herrings, or salt cod, thriving, on the associative principle, by mutual support. The parts of London that are the most thickly populated with Irish lie about Brook-street, Rat- clifT-oross, down both sides of the Commercial- road, and in Rosemary- lane, though nearly all the " coster- districts " cited at p. 47, have their Irish settlements— Cromer- street, Safiron-hill and King-street, Drury-lane, for instance, being thickly peopled with the Irish ; but the places I have mentioned above are peculiarly distin- guished, by being almost entirely peopled by visitors from the sister isle. The same system of immigration is pursued in London as in America. As soon as the first settler is thriving in his newly chosen country, a certain portion of his or her earnings are carefully hoarded up, until they are sufficient to pay for the removal of another member of the family to England ; then one of the friends left " at home " is sent for; and thus by degrees the entire family is got over, and once more united. Perhaps there is no quarter of London where the habits and habitations of the Irish can be better seen and studied than in Kosemary-lane, and the little courts and alleys that spring from it on each side. Some of these courts have other courts branching off from them, so that the loca- lity is a perfect labyrinth of " blind alleys ;" and when once in the heart of the maze it is difficult to find the path that leads to the main-road. As you walk down " the lane," and peep through the narrow openings between the houses, the place seems Uke a huge peep-show, with dark holes of gateways to look through, while the court within appears bright with the daylight ; and down it are seen rough-headed urchins running with their feet bare through the pud- dles, and bonnctless girls, huddled in shawls, lolling against the door-posts. Sometimes you see a long narrow alley, with the houses so close together that opposite neighbours are talking from their windows ; while the ropes, stretched zig-zag from wall to wall, atlbrd just room enough to dry a blanket or a couple of shirts, that swell out dropsically in the wind. I visited one of the paved yards round which the Irish live, and found that it had been turned into a complete drying-ground, with shirts, gowns, and petticoats of every description and colour. The buildings at the end were com- pletely hidden by " the things," and the air felt damp and chilly, and smelt of soap-suds. The gutter was filled with durty gray water emptied from the wash-tubs, and on the top were the thick bubbles floating about under the breath of the boys " playing at boats " with them. It is the custom with the inhabitants of these courts and alleys to assemble at the entrance with their baskets, and chat and smoke away the morning. Every court entrance has its little group of girls and women, lolling listlessly against the sides, with theii heads uncovered, and their luxuriant hair fuzzy as oakum. It is peculiar with the Irish women that — after having been accustomed to their hoods — they seldom wear bonnets, unless on a long journey. Nearly all of them, too, have a thick plaid shawl, which they keep on all the day through, with their hands covered under iL At the mouth of the only thoh>ughfare deserving of the name of street — for a cart could just go through it — were congregated about thirty men and women, who rented rooms in the houses on each side of the road. Six women, with baskets of dried her- rings, were crouching in a line on the kerb- stone with the fish before them ; their legs were drawn up so closely to their bodies that the shawl covered the entire figure, and they looked very like the podgy " tombolers " sold by the Italian boys. As all their wares were alike, it was puz- zling work to imagine how, without the strongest opposition, they could each obtain a living. The Digitized by Google 110 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. men were dressed in long-tail coats, with one or two brass buttons. One old dame, with a face wrinkled like a dried plum, had her cloak placed over her head like a hood, and the grisly hair hung down in matted hanks about her face, her black eyes shining between the locks like those of a Skye terrier; beside her was another old woman smoking a pipe so short that her nose reached over the bowl. After lookmg at the low foreheads and long bulging upper lips of some of the group, it was pleasant to gaze upon the pretty faoes of the one or two girls that lolled against the wall. Their black hair, smoothed with grease, and shining almost as if "japanned," and their large gray eyes with the thick dark fringe of lash, seemed out of place among the hard features of their companions. It was only by looking at the short petticoats and large feet you could assure yourself that they belonged to the same class. In all the houses that I entered were traces of household care and neatness that I had little expected to have seen. The cupboard fastened in the comer of the room, and stocked with mugs and cups, the mantelpiece with its images, and the walls covered with showy- coloured prints of saints and martyrs, gave an air of comfort that strangely disagreed with the reports of the cabins in "ould Ireland." As tlie doors to the houses were nearly all of theni kept open, I could, even whilst walking along, gain some notion of the furniture of the homes. In one house that I visited there was a family of five persons, living on the ground floor and occupying two rooms. The boards were strewn with red sand, and the front apartment had three beds in it, with the printed curtains drawn closely round. In a dark room, at the back, lived the family itself. It was fitted up as a parlour, and crowded to excess with chairs and tables, the very staircase having pictures fastened against the wooden partition. The fire, although it was midday, and a warm autumn morning, served as much for light as for heat, and round it crouched tlie mother, children, and visitors, bending over the flame as if in the severest winter time. In a room above this were a man and woman lately arrived in England. The woman sat huddled up in a comer smoking, with the husband standing over her in, what appeared at first, a menacing attitude; I was informed, however, that they were only planning for the future. This room wa? perfectly empty of furniture, and the once white- washed walls were black, except- ing the little square patches which showed where the pictures of the former tenants had hung. In another room, I found a home so small and full of furniture, that it was almost a curiosity for domestic management. The bed, with its chuitz curtains looped up, filled one end of the apartment, but the mattress of it served as a long bench for the visitors to sit on. The table was so large that it divided the room in two, and if there was one picture there must have been thirty— all of " holy men," with yellow glories round their heads. The window-ledge was dressed out with crockery, and in a tumbler were placed the beads. The old dame herself was as curious as her room. Her shawl was fastened over her large frilled cap. She had a little " button" of a nose, with the nostrils enter- ing her face like bullet holes. She wore over her gown an old pilot coat, well-stained with fish slime, and her petticoats being short, she had very much the appearance of a Dutch fish- erman or stage smuggler. Her story was ejecting — made more so, perhaps, by the emotional manner in which she related it Nine years ago "the father" of the district — " the Blissed Lady guard him ! " — had found her late at night, rolling in the gutter, and the boys pelting her witli orange- peel and mud. She was drunk — " the Lorrud pass by her" — and when she came to, she found herself in the chapel, lying before the sanctuary, " under the shadow of the holy cross." Watching over her was the " good fotlier," trying to bring back her consciousness. He spoke to her of her wickedness, and before she left she took the pledge of temperance. From that time she prospered, and the U. 6d, the "father" gave her "had God's blissin' in it," for she became the best dressed woman in the court, and in less than three years had 15/. in the savings' bank, " the father— -Heaven chirish him" — keeping her book for her, as he did for other poor people. She also joined " the Asso- ciation of the Blissed Lady," (and bought her- self the dress of the order " a beautiful grane vilvit, which she had now, and which same cost her 30»."), and then she was secure against want in old age and sickness. But after nine years pmdencc and comfort, a brother of hers retumed home from the army, with a pension of 1*. a day. He was wild, and persuaded her to break her pledge, and in a short time he got all her savings from her and spent every penny. She could'nt shake bun oflT, "for he was the only kin she had on airth," and " she must love her own flish and bones." Then began her misery. " It plased God to visit her ould limbs with aches and throubles, and her hips swole with the cowld," so that she was at last forced into a hospital, and all that was left of her store was " aten up by sufferin's." Tliis, she assured me, all came about by the "good father's" leaving that parish for another one, but now he had returned to them again, and, with his help and God's blessing, she would yet prosper once more. \Miilst I was in the room, the father entered, and "old Norah," half- divided l)etween joy at seeing him and shame at " being again a beggar," laughed and wept at the same time. She stood wiping her eyes with the shawl, and groaning out blessings on "his riviriuce's hid," begging of him not " to scould her for she was a wake woman." The renegade brother was had in to receive a lecture from "his rivirince." A more sottish idiotic face it would be difficult to imagine. He stood witli his hands hanging Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. Ill down like (he paws of a dog begging, and his two small eyes stared in the face of the priest, as he censured him, without the least expression even of consciousness. Old Norah stood by, groaning like a bagpipe, and writhing while the father spoke to her *• own brother," as though every reproach were meant for her. The one thing that struck me during my visit to this neighbourhood, was the apparent listless- ness and lazy appearance of the people. The boys at play were the only beings who seemed to have any life in their actions. The women in their plaid shawls strolled along the pave- ments, stopping each friend for a chat, or joining some circle, and leaning against the wall as though utterly deficient in energy. The men smoked, with their hands in their pockets, lis- tening to the old crones talking, and only now and then grunting out a reply when a question was directly put to them. And yet it is curious that these people, who here seemed as inactive as negroes, will perform the severest bodily labour, undertaking tasks that the English are almost unfitted for. To complete this account, I subjoin a brief description of the lodging-houses resorted to by the Irish immigrants on their arrival in this country. Irish Lodging-housHS for Immigrants. Often an Irish immigrant, whose object is to settle in London, arrives by the Cork steamer without knowing a single friend to whom he can apply for house-room or assistance of any kind. Sometimes a whole family is landed late at night, worn out by sickness and the terrible fatigues of a three days' deck passage, almost pai^ysed by exhaustion, and scarcely able to speak English enough to inquire for shelter till morning. If the immigrants, however, are bomid for America, their lot is very different Then they are consigned to some agent in London, who is always on the wharf at the time the steamer arrives, and takes the strangers to the homes he has prepared for them until the New York packet starts. During the two or three days* necessary stay in London, they are provided for at the agent's expense, and no trouble is ex- perienced by the travellers. A large provision- merchant in the city told me that he often, during the season, had as many as 500 Irish consigned to him by one vessel, so that to lead them to their lodgings was like walking at the head ot a regiment of recruits. The necessities of the immigrants in London have caused several of their countrymen to open lodging-houses in the coUrts about Rosemary- lane ; these men attend the coming in of the Cork steamer, and seek for customers among the poorest of the poor, after the maimer of touters to a sea-side hotel. The immigrants' -houses are of two kinds — clean and dirty. The better class of Irish lodging-houses almost startle one by the com- fort and cleanliness of the rooms ; for after the descriptions you hear of the state in which the deck passengers are landed from the Irish boats, their clothes stained with the manure of the pigs, and drenched with the spray, you some- how expect to find all the accommodations disgusting and unwholesome. But one in particular, that I visited, had the floor clean, and sprinkled with red sand, while tlie win- dows were sound, bright, and transparent The hobs of the large fire-place were piled up with bright tin pots, and the chinmey piece was white and red with the china images ranged upon it In one comer of the principal apartment there stood two or three boxes still corded up, and with bundles strung to the sides, and against the wall was hung a bunch of blue cloaks, such as the Irishwomen wear. The proprietor of the house, who was dressed in a gray tail-coat and knee- breeches, that had somewhat the effect of a foot- man's livery, told me that he had received seven lodgers the day before, but six were men, and tliey were all out seekmg for work. In front of the fire sat a woman, bending over it so close that the bright cotton gown she had on smelt of scorching. Her feet were bare, and she held the soles of them near to the bars, curling her toes about with the heat She was a short, thick- set woman, with a pair of won- derfully muscular arms crossed over her bosom, and her loose rusty hair streaming over her neck. It was in vain that I spoke to her about her journey, for she wouldn't answer me, but kept her round, open eyes fixed on my face with a wild, nervous look, following me about with them ever>'where. Across the room hung a line, with the newly- washed and well-patched clothes of the immi- grants hanging to it, and on a side- table were the six yellow basins that had been used for the men's breakfasts. During my visit, the neighbours, having observed a strange gentle- man enter, came pouring in, each proferring ,some fresh bit of news about their newly- arrived countrymen. I was nearly stunned by haJf-a-dozen voices speaking together, and tell- ing me how the poor people had been four days *• at say," so that they were glad to get near the pigs for " warrumth," and instructing me as to the best manner of laying out the sum of money that it was supposed 1 was about to shower down upon the immigrants. In one of the worst class of lodging-houses I found ten human beings living together in a small room. The apartment was' entirely de- void of all furniture, excepting an old mattrass rolled up against the *all, and a dirty piece of cloth hung across one corner, to screen the women whilst dressing. An old man, the father of five out of the ten, was seated on a tea-chest, mending shoes, and the other men were looking on with their hands in their pockets. Two girls and a woman were huddled together on the floor in front of the Are, talking in Irish. All these people seemed to be utterly devoid I of energy, and the men moved about so lazily Digitized by Google 112 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. that I couldn't help asking some of them if they had tried to ohtain work. Every one turned to a good-iooking young fellow lolling against the wall, as if they expected him to answer for them. " Ah, sure, and that they have," was the reply; "it's the docks they have tried, worms luck." The others appeared struck with the truthfulness of the answer, for they all shook their heads, and said, *' Sure an' that's thruth, anyhow." Here my Irish guide ventured an observation, by remarking solemnly, •* It's no use tilling a lie;" to which the whole room assented, by exclaiming alto- gether, "Thnie for you, Norah." The chosen spokesman then told me, "They paid half-a- cro wn a week for the room, and that was as much as they could earrun, and it was starruve they should if the neighbours didn't hilp them a bit." I asked them if they were oetter off over here than when in Ireland, but could get no direct answer, for my question only gave rise to a political discussion. " There 's plenty of food over here," said the spokesman, ad- dressing his companions as much as myself, " plenty of 'Uties— plenty of mate— plenty of porruk." ** But where the use,'* observed my guide, "if there's no money to buy 'em wid ?" to which the audience muttered, " Thrue for you again, Nomh ;" and so it went on, each one pleading poverty in the most eloquent style. After I had left, the yomig fellow who had acted as spokesman followed me into the street, and taking me into a comer, told me that he was a " sailor by thrade, but had lost his 'rigis- thration- ticket,' or he'd have got a berruth long since, and tiiat it was all for 3#. 6^. he wasn't at say.'* Cooceming the number of Irish immigrants, I have obtained the following information : The great influx of the Irish into London was in the year of tlie famine, 1847-8. Tliis cannot be better shown than by citing the re- turns of the number of persons admitted into the Asylum for the Houseless Poor, in Play- house-yard, Cripplegate. These returns I ob- tained for fourteen years, and the average num- ber of admissions of the applicants from all parts during that time was 8,794 yearly. Of these, the Irish averaged 2,455 yearly, or eoa- sidecably more than a fourth of the whole number received. The total number of a^ plicants thus sheltered in the fourteen years was 180,625, of which tlie Irish numbered 34,378. The smallest number of Irish (men, women, and children) admitted, was in 1834-5, abovt 300 ; in 1846-7, it was as many as 7,576^ while in 1847-8, it was 10,756, and in 1848-9, 5,068. But it was into Liverpool that the tide of im- migradou flowed the strongest, in the calamitous year of the famine. " Between the 13tk Jan, and the 13th Dec, both inclusive," writes Mr. llushton, the Liverpool magistrate, to Sir G. Grey, on llie 2l8t April last, " 296,231 persons landed in this port (Liverpool) from Ireland. Of this vast number, about 130,000 emigrated to the United States ; some 50,000 were passen- gers on business; and the remainder (161,231), mere panpers, half-naked and starving, landed, for the most part, during the winter, and became, immediately on landing, applicants for parochial relief. You already know the immediate results of this accumulation of misery in the crowded town of Liverpool ; of the cost of relief at once rendered necessary to prevent the thousands of hungry and naked Iriui perishing in our streets ; and also of the cost of the pestilence which generally follows in the train of famine and misery such as we then had to encounter Hundreds of patients perished, notwithstanding all effi>rts made to save them ; and ten Roman Catholic and one Protestant clergyman, many parochial ofllcers, and many medical men, who devoted themselves to the task of alleviating the sufferings of the wretched, died in the discharge of these high duties." Great numbers of these people were, at the same time, also conveyed firom Ireland to Wales, especially to Newport. They were brought over by coal- vessels as a return cargo — a living ballast — 2i, 6d, being the highest fare, and were huddled together like pigs. The manager of the Newport tramp-house has stated concerning these people, " They don't live long, diseased as they are. They are very remarkable ; they will eat salt by basons-full, and drink a great quantity of water after. I have frequently known those who could not have been hungry eat cabbage- leaves and other refuse from the ash-heap." It is necessary that I should thus briefly allude to this matter, as there is no doubt that aome of these people, making their way to London, soon became street-sellers there, and many of them took to the business subse- quently, wh^i there was no employment in liarvesting, hop-picking, &c Of the poor wretches landed at Liverpool, many (Mr. Aushton states) became beggars, and many thieves. Many, there is no doubt, tramped their way to London, sleeping at the " casual ^ards " of the Unions on their way ; but I believe that of those who had become habituated to the practice of beggary or theft, few or noye would follow the occupation of street-selling, as even the half-passive industry of such a calling ivould be irksome to the apathetic and dis- lionest Of the immigration, direct by the vessels trading from Ireland to Loudon, there are no returns such has have been collected by Mr. Kushton for Liverpool, but the influx is com- paratively small, on account of tlie greater length and cost of the voyage. Durmg the last year I am informed that 15,000 or 16,000 passengets were brought from Ireland to London direct, and, in addition to these, 500 more were brought over from Cork in connec- tion with the arrangements for emigration to tlie United States, and consigned to the emigration agent here. Of the 15,500 (tokin^ the mean "between the two numbers above given) 1,000 •emigrated to the Uuited Sute& It appeaiis, Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, 113 on the tutkority of Mr. Rushtoo, that even in the gnett jear of Che immigntion, more than one- sixth of the passengers from Ireland to Dublin eame on hnsiness. It may, then, be reasonable to calculate that during last year one-fburth at least of the passengers to London had the same object in Tlew, leaving about 10,000 persons who have either emigrated to British Ncwth America, Australia, &e., or hare resorted to some mode of subsistence in the metropolis or the adjacent parts. Besides theee there are the numbers who make their way up to London, tramping it from the several provmcial ports — aamely, Liverpool, Bristol, Newport, and Glas- gow. Of these I have no means of forming any estimate, or of the proportion who adopt street- selling on their arrival here— all that can be said is, that the influx of Irish into the street-trade every year must be very considerable. I believe, however, that only those who '* have friends in the line *' resort to street-selling on their arrival in London, though all may m&e it a resource when other endeavours fail. The great immi- gration into London is from Cork, the average cost of a deck passage being 5t, The immi- grants direct to London from Cork are rarely of the poorest class. Of the Diet, Drink, and Expense of Living of the Strect-Ibish. The diet of the Irish men, women, and children, who obtain a livelihood (or what is eo designated) by street-sale in London, has, I am told, on good authority, experienced a change. In the lodg- ing-houses that they retorted to, their breakfast, two or three years ago, was a dish of potatoes — two, three, or four Ib^, or more, in weight — for a family. Now half an ounce of coffee (half chi- cory) costs |ortion of what is called " tidy" fruit, and this occupies tlie prominent place in the " halfpenny lou" — for they are usually sold at a halfpenny. Sometimes, too. a salesman will throw in among the refuse a little good fruit, if he happen to have it over, either gratuitously or at the refuse price ; and this, of course, is always made the most conspicuous on the stalls. Of other fruits, perhaps, only a small portion is damaged, from over-ripeness, or by the aggression of wasps and insects, the remainder being very line, so that the retail "loU" are generally cheap. The sellers aim at *' half profits," or cent per cent The "refuse" trade in fruit — and the refuse- trade is mainly confined to fruit — is principally in the hands of the Irish. The persons carrying it on are nearly all middle-aged and elderly women. I once or twice saw a delicate and pretty-looking girl sitting with the old "re- fuse" women ; but I found that she was not a *' regular hand," and only now and then "minded the stall" in her mother's absence. She worked with her needle, I was told. Of the women who confine tliemselves to this trade there are never less than twenty, and frequently tliirty. Sometimes, when tlie refiise is very cheap and very abundant, as many as 100 fruit-sellers, women and girls, will sell it in halfpenny- worths, along with better articles. These women also sell refuse dry- fruit, purchased in Duke's-place, but only when they cannot obtain green-fruit, or caimot obtain it sufficiently. All is sold at stalls ; as these dealers seem to tliink that if it were hawked, the police might look too inquisitively at a barrow stocked with refuse. The " refuse- sellers" buy at all the markets. The poorer street- sellers, whose more staple trade is in oranges or nuts, are occational dealers in it Perhaps the regular refuse-buyers are not among the wry poorest class, as their sale is tolerably quick and certain, but with the usual drawbacks of wet weather. Tiicy make, I was told, from 4^. to ]«. a day tlie year round, or perhaps 7d, or Sd. a day, Sunday included. They are all Roman Catholics, and resort to the street-sale after mass. They are mostly widows, or women who h^ve reached mid- dle-age, unmarried. Some are the wives of street-sellers. Two of their best pitches are on Saf&on-hill and in Petti coat- lane. It is somewhat curious to witness these women sitting in a line of five or six, and notwith- standing their natural garrulity, hardly ex- changing a word one with another. Some of them derive an evident solace from deliberate puflTs at a short black pipe. A stout, healthy-looking woman of this class said: — "Sure tliin, sir, I've sat and sould my bit of fi-uit in this place, or near it, for iwinty year and more, as is very well known indeed, is it I could make twice the money twinty year ago tliat I can now, for the boys had the ha' pinnies more thin than they has now, more's the pity. The childer is my custliomers, very few beyant — such as has only a ha' pinny noAv and thin, God hilp them. They'll come a mile from any pamit, to spind it with such as me, for they know it's chape we sill! Yis, indeed, or they'll come with a fardin either, for it's a ha'piimy lot we'll split for them anytime. The boys buys most, but they're dridful tazcs. It's the patience of the divil must be had to dale wid tlie likes of thim. They was dridful about the Pope, but they've tired of it now. O, no, it wasn't the boys of my counthry that de- maned tliemselves that way. ^Vell, I make 4//. some days, and 6d. some, and It. 6d. some, and I have made 3*. 6m a London salesman, and he was "nae just free to enter into any agree- ment for a fixed price at a'." The honour- able gentleman, after much demurring, gives way, feeling perhaps that he cannot well do anything else. In due course the grouse are received in Leadenhall, and unpacked and flung about with as little ceremony as if they had been "slaughtered" by a Whitechapel Digitized by Google 124 LONDON LABOUR AND THB LONDON POOR. jouinejiiuui butcher, at so much a head. It is a thin market, perhaps, when they come to hand. A dealer, fashionable in the parish of St George, Uaiiover-square, has declined to gire the price demanded ; they were not his money; **he had to give such \ona credit" A dc^r, popular in the ward of Cheap, has also declined to buy, and for the same alleged reason. The salesman, knowing that some of these dealers must buy, quietly says that he will take no less, and as he is known to be a man of his word, little is said upon the subject As the hour arrives at which fashion- able game-dealers are compelled to buy, or disappoint customers who will not brook such disappointment, the market, perhaps, is glutted, owing to a very great consignment by a later railway train, 'fiie Iwoeme$$ Courier, or the North of Scotland Oazeite, are in due course quoted by the London papers, touching the *• extraordinary sport " of a party of lords and gentlemen in the Highlands ; and the " heads " of game are particularized with a care that would do honour to a Price Current. The salesman then disposes rapidly of divers *' brace" to the "hawkers," at 1*. or 2*. the brace, and the hawker offers them to hotel-keepers, and shop- keepers, and housekeepers, selling some at 3«. 6d. the brace, some at d<., at 2s. 6d., at 2s., and at less. " At last," said my informant, " he may sell the finest brace of his basket, which he has held back to get a better price for, at 6d. a-piece, rather than keep them over-night, and that to a woman of the town, whom he may have met reeling home with money in her purse. l*hus the products of an honourable gentleman's skilful industry, on which he greatly prided himself, are eaten by the woman and her ' fancy man,' grumblingly enough, for they pronounce the birds inferior to tripe." The best quarters for the street-sale of game and poultry are, I am informed fVom several sources, either the business parts of the metropolis, or else the houses in tlie several suburbs which are the furthest from a market or from a business part The squares, crescents, places, and streets, that do not ))artake of one or tlie other of these characteristics, are pronounced "no good." Of the Experilnce of a Game Hawker. The man who gave me the following informa- tion was strong and robust, and had a weather- beaten look. He seemed about fifty. He wore when I saw him a larg^ velveteen jacket a cWth waistcoat which had been once green, and brown corduroy trousers. No part of his attire, though it seemed old, was patched, his sliirt being clean and white. He evidently aimed at the game- keeper style of dress. He affected some humour, and was aogged in his opinions : " I was a gentleman's footman when I was a young man," he said, "and saw life both in town and country; so I knows what things belongs." [A common phrase among persons of his class to denote their being men of the world.] " I never liked the confinement of ser- vice, and besides the upper servants takes on so. The others puts up with it more than they would, I suppose, because they hopes to be butlers themselves in time. The only decent people in the house I lived in last was master and mis- sus. I won 20/., and got it too, on the Colonel, when he won the Leger. Mister was a bit of a turf gentleman, and so we all dabbled— like master like man, you know, sir. I think that was in 1828, but I 'm not certain. We came to London not long after Doncaster" [he meant Doncaster races], " something about a lawsuit, and that winter I left service and bought tlie goodwill of a coflee-shop for 25/. It didn't answer. I wasn't up to the coflee-making, I think; there's a deal of things belongs to all things ; so I got out of it, and after that I was in service again, and then I was a boots at an inn. But I couldn't settle to nothing long ; I'm of a free spirit, you see. I was hard up at last, and I popped my watch for a sovereign, because a friend of mine^ — we sometimes drank together of a night-^said he could put me in the pigeon and chicken line ; that was what he called it but it meant game. This just suited me, for I'd been out with the poachers when I was a lad, and indeed when I was in service, out of a night on the sly ; so I knew they got stiffi&h prices. My friend got me the pigeons. I believe he cheated me, but he's gone to glory. The next season game was made legal eating. Before that I cleared from 25s. to 40*. a week by selling my * pigeons.' I carried real pigeons as well, which I said was ray own rearing at Gravesend. I sold my game pigeons — there was all sorts of names for them — in the City, and sometimes in the Strand, or Charing-cross, or Covent-gardeil. I sold to shopkeepers. Oft enough I've been of- fered so much tea for a hare. I sometimes had a hare in eaoh pocket, but they was very awk- ward carriage ; if one was sold, the other sagged sa I very seldom sold them, at that time, at less than Ss, Sd,, often is, 6d., and sometimes 5s. or more. I once sold a thumping old jack- hare to a draper for 6s. ; it was Christmas time, and he thought it was a beauty. I went into the country after that, among my friends, and had a deal of ups and downs in different parts. I was a navvy part of the time, till five or six year back I came to London again, and got into my old trade; but it's quite a different thing now. I hawks grouse, and every thing, quite open. Leadenhall and Newgate is my markets. Six of one and half-a-dosen of t'other. When there's a great arrival of game, after a game battle " (he would so call a battue) " and it's-warm weather, that's my time of day, for then I can buy cheap. A muggy day, when it's close and warm, is best of all. I have a tidy bit of connection now in game, and don't touch poultry when I can get game. Grouse is the first thing I get to seU. They are legal eating on the 12th of August, but as there's hundreds of braces sold in London that day, and as they're shot in Scotland and Yorkshire, and other plaoes where there's moors, in coarse Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. 125 they're killed before it's legal. It's not often I can get them early in the season; not the first week, but I have had three brace two days before they were legal, and sold them at 5s. a brace ; they cost me 35. Zd,^ but I was told I was favoured. I got them of a dealer, but that's a secret I sold a few youcg par- tridges with grouse this year at 1^. Qd, and U. 9the same who hawk dead game and poultry — are concerned in the traffic I am treating of. At other times there are hardly 30, and in some not 20 so employed, for if the wea- ther be temperate, dead poultry is preferred to live by the hawkers. Taking the average of "live" sellers at 25 every week, it gives only a trade of 32 birds each weekly. Some, however, will sell 18 in a day ; but others, who occasionally resort to the trade, only a dozen in a week. The birds are sometimes carried in baskets on the hawker's arm, their heads being let through net- work at the top ; but more frequently they are hawked in open wicker-work coops carried on the head. The best live poultry are from Surrey and Sussex ; the inferior from Ireland, and per- haps more than three-fourths of that sold by the hawkers is Irish. The further nature of the trade, and the class of customers, is shown in the following state- ment, given to me by a middle-aged man, who had been familiar with the trade from his youth. ** Yes, sir," he said, " I've had a turn at live poultry for — let me see — someways between twenty and twenty-five years. The business is a sweater, sir ; it's heavy work, but * live* aiut so heavy as * dead.' There's fewer of them to carry in a round, that'f> it Ah ! twenty years ago, or better, live poultry was wortli following. I did a good bit in it I've sold IGO fowls and ducks, and more, in a week, and cleared about 4/. But out of that I had to give a man Is. a, day, and his peck, to help me. At that time I sold my ducks and chickens — I worked nothing else — at from 2s. to 3«. 6d. a piece, according to size and quality. Now, if I get frt>m 14d to 2s. it's not so bad. I sell more, I think, however, over 1*. 6d. than im- der it, but I'm pertieler in my * live.* I never sold to any but people out of town that had conve- nience to keen them, and Lord knows, I've seen ponds I could jump over reckoned prime for ducks. Them that keeps their gardens nice won't buy live poultry. I've seldom sold to the big houses an3rthing like to what I've done to the smaller. The big houses, you see, goes for fuicy bantems, such as Sir John Seabright's, or Spanish hens, or a bit of a game cross, or real game— -just for oma- ment, and not for fighting— or for anything that's got its name up. I* ve known young couples buy fowls to have their breakfsst eggs from them. One young lady told me to bring her — that's fifteen year ago, it is so — six couples, that I knew would lay. I told her she'd better have five hens to a cock, and she didn't seem pleased, but I'm sure I don't know why, for I hope I'm always civil. I told her there would be murder if there was a cock to every hen. I supplied her, and made.6«. by the job. I have sold Digitized by Google THE WALLFLOWER GIRL. IFrom a Daguerreoiifpt bff Bsaad.] Digitized by Google Digitized by Google ^ LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. 129 live fowls to the Jews about Whitechapcl, on my way to Stratford and Bow, bat only when I're bought a bargain and sold one. I don't know nothing how" the Jews kills their fowls. Last summer I didn't make It, 6tL k day} no, nor more than three half-crawns a week in * live.' But that's only part of my trade. I don't complain, so it's nothing to nobody what I makes. From Beever (De Beauvoir) Town to Stamford Hill, and on to Tottenham and Ed- monton, and turning off Walthamstow way is as good a round as any for live; it is so; but nothing to what it was. Highgate and Hamp- stead is middling. The t'other aide the water isn't good at all." Fancy chickois, I may add, are never hawked, nor are live pigeons, nor geese, nor turkeys. The hawkers' sale of live poultry may be taken, at a moderate oomputation, as 6,600 chickens, and 3,900 ducks. Of Rabbit Selling in the Streets. Rabbit-selling cannot be said to be a distinct branch of costermongering) but some street- sellers devote themselves to it more exclusively than to other "goods," and, for five or six months of the year, sell little else. It is not often, though it is sometimes, imited with the game or poultry trade, as a stock of rabbits, of a dozen or a dozen and a half, is a sufficient load for one man. The best sale for rabbits is in the suburbs. They are generally carried slung two and two on a long pole, which is supported on the man'i shoulders, or on a short one which is carried in the hand. Lately, they have been hawked about hung up on a barrow. The trade is the briskest in the autunm and winter months ; but some men carry them, though they do- not confine themselves to the traffic in them, all the year round. The following statement shows the nature of the trade. "I was bom and bred a costermonger," he said, ** and I've been concerned with everything in the line. I've been mostly * on rabbits' these five or six years, but I always sold a few, and now sometimes I sell a hare or two, and, if rabbits is too dear, I tumble on to fish. I buy at Leadenhall mainly. I've given from 6«. to 14«. a dozen for my rabbits. The usual price is fi-om 6s. to 8s, a dozen. [I may remark that the coelers buy nearly all the Scotch rabbits, at an average of 6s. the dozen; and the Ostcnd rabbits, which are a shilling or two dearer.] They're Hampshire rabbits ; but I don't know where Hampshire is. I know thejr're from Hampshire, for they're called * Wild Hampshire rabbits, Is, a pair.' But still, as you say, that's only a call. I never sell a rabbit at 6d., in courses-it costs more. My way in business is to get 2d. profit, and the skin, on every rabbit If they cost me 8J., I try to get lOd. It's the skins is the profit The skins now brings me from Is, to Is. 9d, a dozen. They're best in frosty weather. The fur's thickest then. It grows best in firost, I suppose. If I sell a dozen, it's a tidy day's work. If I get 2d, a-piece on them, and the skins at Is. Bd., it's Zs. ^, but I dont sell above 6 doien in a week —that's I6s. id. a week, nr, is it f Wet and dark weather is against me^ People won't often buy rabbits by candlelight, if they're ever so sweet Some weeks in spring and summer I can't sell above two dozen rabbita. I have sold two doien and ten on a Saturday in the country, but then I had a young man to help me. I sell the skins to a warehouse for hatters. My old 'oman works a little fish at a stall sometimes, but she only can in fine weather, for we've a kid that can hardly walk, and it don't do to let it stand out in the cold. Perhaps I may make lOf. to 14«. a week all the year round. I'm paying Is. a week for II. borrowed, and paid 2s, all last year ; but I'll pay no more after Christ- mas. I did better on rabbita four or five year back, because I sold more to working-people and small shopkeepers than I do now. I suppose it's because they're not so well off" now as they was then, and, as you say, butchers' -meat may be cheaper now, and tempts them. I do best short ways in the coimtry. Wandsworth way ain't bad. No more is parU of Stoke-Newing- ton and Stamford-hill. St John's Wood and Hempstead is middling. Hackney's bad. I goes all ways. I dont know what sort of peo- ple's my best customers. Two of 'em, I've been told, is banker's clerks, so in course they is rich." There are 600,000 rabbits sold eveiy year in the streets of London ; these, at 7d. a-piece, give 17,500/. thus expended annually in the metro- polis. Of the Street Sale of Butter, Cheese, AND Eggs. All these commodities used to be hawked in the streets, and to a considerable extent Until, as nearly as I can ascertain, between twenty and thirty years back, butter was brought from Epping, and other neighbouring parts, where good pasture existed, and hawked in the streets of London, usually along with poultry and eggs. This trade is among the more ancient of the street-trades. Steam-vessels and rail- ways, however, have so stocked the markets, that no hawkhig of butter or eggs, from any agricultural part, even the nearest to London, would be remunerative now. Eggs are brought in immense quantities from France and Bel- gium, though thirty, or even twenty years ago the notion having of a good French egg, at a Lon- don breakfast-table, would have been laughed at as aa absurd attempt at an impossible achievement The number of eggs now annu- ally imported into this kingdom, is 98,000,000, half of which may be said to be the yearly con- sumption of London. No butter is now hawked, but sometimes a few ** new laid " eggs are car- ried from a rural part to the nearest meteopo- litan euburb, and are sold readily enough, if the purveyor be known. Mr. M*Culloch estimates the average consumption of butter, in London, at 6,250,000 lbs. per annum, or 5 oz., weekly, eac^individual. Digitized by Google 130 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. The hawking of cheese was never a promi- nent part of the street-trade. Of late,- its sale in the streets, may he described as accidentaL A considerable quantity 'of American cheese was hawked, or more commonly sold at a stand- ing, five or six years ago ; unto December last, and for three months preceding, cheese was sold in the streets which nad been rejected from Government stores, as it would not " keep " for the period required; but it was ffood for immediate consumption, for which aU street- goods are required. This, and the American cheese, were both sold in the streets at $d. the pound ; usually, at fiiir weights, I am told, for it might not be easy to deceive the poor in a thing of such frequent purchase as " half a quarter or a quarter" (of a pound) of cheese. The total quantity of foreign cheese con- sumed, yearly, in the metropolis nuiy be esti- mated at 25,000,000 lbs. weight, or half of the gross quantity annually imported. The following statement shows the quantity and sum paid for the game and poultry sold in London streets : £ 5,000 grouse, at Is, 9d, each . . . 437 20,000 partridges, at 1«. 6d. . . . . 1,500 12,000 pheasants, tiiSs.6m Sd. to 5«. ; pinks at from 3rf. for the common pink, to 2s, for the best single clove, and 4«. for the best double ; stocks, as they are small and single, to their being large and double, from 3d, (and some- times less) to 2s. i dahlias fh)m 6d. to 5s,; fuschias, from 6d. to 4«. ; rose-bushes from 3d, to Is, Sd,, and sometimes, but not often, much higher; musk-plants, London pride, lupins, &c., me Id. and 2^., pots generally included. To carry on his business efficiently, the root- seller mostly keeps a pony and a cart, to convey his purchases from the garden to his stall or his barrow, and he must have a sheltered and cool shed in which to deposit the flowers which are to be kept over- night for the morrow's business. "It's a great bother, sir," said a root-seller, " a man having to provide a shed for his roots. It wouldn't do at all to have them in the same room as we sleep in — they'd droop. I have a beautifril big shed, and a snug stall for a donkey in a comer of it ; but he won't bear tying up — he'll flght against tying all night, and if he was loose, why in course he'd eat the flowers I put in the shed. The price is nothing to him ; he'd eat the Queen's camellias, if he could get at them, if they cost a pound a-piece. So I have a deal of trouble, for I must block him up somehow; but he's a first-rate ass." To carry on a considerable business, the services of a man and his wife are generally required, as well as those of a boy. The purchases wholesale are generally by the dozen roots, all ready for sale in pots. Migno- nette, however, is grown in boxes, and sold by the box at from 5s, to 20^., according to the size, &c. The costermonger buys, for the large sale to the poor, at a rate which brings the migno- nette roots into his possession at something less, perhaps, than a halfpenny each. He then pur- chases a gross of small common pots, costing him l^d, & dozen, and has to transfer the roots and soil to the pots, and then ofier them for sale. The profit thus is about 4«. per hundred, but with the drawback of considerable labour and some cost in the conveyance of the boxes. The same method is sometimes pursued with young stocks. The cheapness of pots, I may mention inci- dentally, and the more frequent sale of roots in them, has almost entirely swept away the fragment of a pitcher and " the spoutless tea- pot," which Cowper mentions as containing the poor man's flowers, that testified an inextin- guishable love of rural objects, even in the heart of a city. There are a few such things, how- ever, to be seen still. Of root-sellers there are, for six months of the year, about 600 in London. Of these, one- fifth devote themselves principally, but none entii^y, to the sale of roots; two-fifths sell roots regularly, but only as a portion, and not a larger portion of their business ; and the remaining two-fifths are casual dealers in roots, buying them — almost always in the markets— whenever a bargain offers. Seven- eighths of the root-sellers are, I am informed, regular costers, occasionally a gardener's assist- ant has taken to the street trade in flowers, "but I fancy, sir," said an experienced man to me, "they've very seldom done any good at it They're always gardening at their roots, trimming them, and such like, and they overdo it. They're too carefiil of their planU ; people like to trim them theirselves." " I did well on fuschias last season," said one of my informants ; " I sold them from 6d. to 1«. 6d. The * Globes ' went off well Geraniums was very fair. The ' Fairy Queens' of them sold futer than any, I think. It's the ladies out of town a little way, and a few in town, that buy them, and buy the fuschias too. They require a good window. The 'Jenny Linds' — they was geraniums and Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. 139 other plants — didn't sell so well as the Fairy Queens, though they was cheaper. Good cloves (pinks) sell to the better sort of houses ; so do carnations. Mignonette's everybody's money. Dahlias didn't go off so well. I had very tidy dahlias at 6^ and 1«., and some Is, 6d. I do a goodish bit in giving flowers for old clothes. I very seldom do it, but to ladies. I deal mostly with them for their husbands' old hats, or boots, or shoes ; yes, sir, and their trowaers and waist- coats sometimes — very seldom their coats — and ladies boots and shoes too. There's one pleasant old lady, and her two daughters, they'll talk me over any day. 1 very seldom indeed trade for ladies' clothes. I have, though. Mostly for somethmg in the shawl way, or wraps of some kind. Why, that lady I was telling you of and her daughters, got me to take togs that didn't bring the prime cost of my roots and expenses. They called them by such fine names, that I was had. Then they was so polite; *0, my good man,' says one of the young daughters, * I must have this geraniimi in 'change.' It was a most big and beautiful Fairy Queen, well worth 4*. The tog — I didn't know what they called it — a sort of cloak, fetched short of half- a- crown, and that just with cheaper togs. Some days, if it's very hot, and the stall business isn't eood in very hot weather, my wife goes a round with me, and does considerable in swopping with ladies. They can't do her as they can me. The same on wet days, if it's not very wet, when I has my roots covered in the cart Ladies is mostly at home such times, and perhaps they're dull, and likes to go to work at a bargaining. My wife manages them. In good weeks, I can clear 3/. in my trade ; the two of us can, anyhow. But then there's bad weather, and there's sometimes roots spoiled if they're not cheap, and don't go off— but I'll sell one that cost me Is. for 2d, to get rid of it; and there's always the expenses to meet, and the pony to keep, and everything that way. No, sir, I don't make 2/. a week for the five months— its nearer five than six— the season lasts ; perhaps something near it The rest of the yeai^ sell fruit, or anyUiing, and may clear lOs. or 155. a week, but, some weeks, next to nothing, and the expenses all going on. " Why, no, sir ; I can't say that times is what they was. Where I made 4i. on my roots five or six years back, I make only 3/. now. But it's no use complaining; there's lots worse off than I am — ^lots. I've given pennies and twopences to plenty that's seen better days in the streets ; it might be their own fault It is so mostly, but perhaps only partly. I keep a connection toge- ther as well as I can. I have a stall ; my wife's there generally, and I go a round as well." One of the principal root-sellers in the streets told me that he not unfrequently sold ten dozen a day, over and above those sold not in pots. As my informant had a superior trade, his business is not to be taken as an average ; but, reckoning that he averages six dozen a day for 20 weeks — he said 26 — it shows that one man alone sells 8,640 flowers in pots in the season. The prin- cipal sellers carry on about the same extent of business. According to similar returns, the number of the several kinds of flowers in pots and flower roots sold annually in the London streets, are as foUows : FLOWERS IN POTS. Moss-roses 38,880 China-roses .... 38,880 Fuschias . . .* . . 38,800 Geraniums 12,800 Total number of flowers in\ ,«« ^^^ pots sold in the streeU J ^^^»^^^ FLOWER-ROOTS. • Primroses 24,000 Polyanthuses .... 34,560 Cowslips 28,800 Daisies 33,600 Wallflowers 46,080 Candytufts 28,800 Daffodils 28,800 Violets 88,400 Mignonette 30,384 Stocks 23,040 Pinks and Carnations . 19,200 Lilies of the Valley . . 3,456 Pansies 12,960 Lilies 660 Tulips 852 Balsams 7,704 Calceolarias .... 3,180 Musk Plants .... 253,440 London Pride .... 11,520 Lupms 25,596 China-asters .... 9,156 Marigolds 63,360 Dahlias 852 Heliotrope 13,356 Poppies 1,920 Michaelmas Daisies . . 6,912 Total number of flower- >-c^ roo roote sold in the streets S ' ^"'^^^ Op the Street Sale op Seeds. The street sale of seeds, I am informed, is smaller than it was thirty, or even twenty years back. One reason assigned for this falling off is the superior cheapness of " flowers in pots." At one time, I was informed, the poorer classes who were fond of flowers liked to " grow their own mignonette." I told one of my informants that I had been assured by a trustworthy man, that in one day he had sold 600 penny pots of mignonette : " Not a bit of doubt of it, sir," was the answer, "not a doubt about it; I've heard of more than that sold in a day by a man who set on three hands to help him ; and that's just where it is. When a poor woman, or poor man either — but its mostly the women— can buy a mignonette pot, all blooming and smelling for Id,, why she won't bother to buy seeds and set them in a box or a pot and wait for them to come into full blow. Selling seeds in the streets can't be done so well now, sir. Any- Digitized by Google 140 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, how it ain't done as it was, as I've often heard old folk say." The reason assigned for this is that cottages in many parts — such places as Lisson-grove, Islington, Hoxton, Hackney, or Stepney— where the inhabitants formerly cultivated flowers in their little gardens, are now let out in single apartments, and the gardens — or yards as they mostly are now — were used merely tp hang clothes in. The only green thing which remained in some of these gardens, I was told, was horse-radish, a root which it is difficult to extirpate : " And it's just the sort of thing," said otie man, " that poor people hasn't no great call for, because they, you see, a' n't not overdone with joints of roast beef, nor nmip steaks." In the suburbs where the small gardens are planted with flowers, the cultivators rarely buy seeds of the street, sellers, whose stands are mostly at a distance. None of the street seed- vendors confine them- selves to the sale. One man, whom I saw, told me that last spring he was penniless, after sickness, and a nurseryman, whom he knew, trusted him 5s. worth of seeds, which he con- tinued to sell, trading in nothing else, for three or four weeks, until he was able to buy some flowers in pots. Though the profit is cent per cent, on most kinds, Is. 6d. a day is accounted " good earnings, on seeds." On wet days there is no sale, and, indeed, the seeds cannot be ex- posed in the streets. My informant computed that he cleared 5s. a week. His customers were principally poor women, who liked to sow mignonette in boxes, or in a garden-border, '* if it had ever such a little bit of sun," and who resided, he believed, in small, quiet streets, branching off from the thoroughfares. Of flower- seeds, the street- sellers dispose most largely of mignonette, nasturtium, and the various stocks; and of herbs, the most is done in parsley. One of my informants, however, " did best in grass-seeds," which people bought, he said, " to mend their grass-plots with," sowing them in any bare place, and throwing soil loosely over them. Lupin, larkspur, convol- vulus, and Venus'p looking-glass had a fair sale. The street-traoe, in seeds, would be less than it iH, were it not that the dealers sell it in smaller quantities than the better class of shop- keepers. The street- traders buy their seeds by the quarter of a pound — or any quantity not considered retail — of the nurserymen, who often write the names for the costers on tlie paper in which the seed has to be inclosed. Seed that costs 4rf., the street-seller makes into eight penny lots. " NVhy, yes, sir," said one man, in answer to my inquiry, " people is often afraid that our seeds ain't honest If they're not, they're mixed, or the3r're bad, before they come into our hands. I don't think any of our chaps does anything with them." Fourteen or fifteen years ago, although seeds, generally, were flfteen to twenty per cent dearer than they are now, there was twice the demand for them. An average price of good mignonette seed, he said, was now Is. the quarter of a pound, and it was then Is. 2d. to U.'6d, The sliilling's worth, is made, by the street- seller, into twenty or twenty-four pennyworths. An average price of parsley, and of the cheaper seeds, is less than half that of mignonette. Other seeds, again, are not sold to the street-people by the weight, but are made up in oxpeuny and shilling packages. Their extreme lightness prevents their being weighed to a customer. Of this class are, the Afhcan marigold, the senecios (groundsel), and the china-aster ; but of these compound flowers, the street- traders sell very few. Poppy- seed used to be in great demand among the street- buyers, but it has ceased to be so. " It's a fine hardy plant, too, sir," I was told, " but somehow, for all its variety in colours, it's gone out of fashion, for fashion runs strong in flowers." One long- established street- seller, who is well known to supply the best seeds, makes for the five weeks or so of the season more than twice the weekly average of 6s. ; perhaps 12«.; but as he is a shop as well as a stall-kteper, he could not speak very precisely as to the proportionate sale in the street or the shop. This man laughed at the fondness some of his customers manifested for " fine Latin names." " There are some people," he said, " who will buy antirrhinum, and artemisia, and digitalis, and wouldn't hear of snapdragon, or worm- wood, or foxglove, though they're the identical plants." The same informant told me that the railways in their approaches to the metro- polis had destroyed manv small gardens, and had, he thought, ii\jurea his trade. It was, also, a common thing now for the greengrocers and corn-chandlers to sell garden-seeds, which until these six or eight years they did much less extensively. Last spring, I was told, there were not more than four persons, in London, selling only seeds. The " root-sellers," of whom I have treated, generally deal in seeds also, but the demand does not extend beyond four or five weeks ift the spring, though there was " a straggling trad^hat way " two or three weeks longer. It was com- puted for me, that there were fully one hundred persons selling seeds (with other things) in the streets, and that each might average a profit of 5s. weekly, for a month ; giving 200/. expended in seeds, with lOOL profit to the costers. Seeds are rarely hawked as flowers are. It is impossible to give as minutely detailed an account of the street*sale of seeds as of flow- ers, as from their diversity in size, weight, quantity in a pennyworth, &c., no calculation can be prepared bv weight or measure, only by value. Thus, I find it necessary to depart some- what from the order hitherto observed. One seedsman, acquainted with the street-trade from his dealings with the vendors, was of opinion that the following list and proportions were as nice an approximation as could be arrived at It was found necessary to give it in proportions of twenty.fifths ; but it must be borne in mind that the quantity in ^ths of parsley, for exam- Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, 141 pie, is more than double that of A^ of mignon- ette. I give, in unison, seeds of about equal sale, whether of the same botanical family or not Many of the most popular flowers, such as polyanthuses, daisies, violets, and primroses, are not raised from seed, except in the nursery gardens : — Seeds. Twenty-fifths. Value. Mignonette . . . Three .... £24 Stocks (of all kinds) Two 16 Marigolds (do.) . . One 8 Convolvulus (do.) . „ 8 Wallflower , 8 Scarlet-beans and \ « Sweet-peas . , t ** China-asters and Ve- \ „ nus' looking-glass j ** Lupin and Larkspur ...... 8 Nasturtium ... „ 8 Parsley Two 16 Other Pot-herbs . . One 8 Mustard and Cress, ^ Lettuce, and the > Two 16 other vegetables . j Grass One 8 Other seeds . . . Seven .... 66 Total expended annually on street-seeds . £200 Of Christmasinq — Laurel, Ivy, Holly, AND Mistletoe. In London a large trade is carried on in " Christmasing," or in the sale of holly and mis- tletoe, for Christmas sports and decorations. I have appended a table of the quantity of these ''branches" sold, nearly 250,000, and of the' money expended upon them in the streets. It must be borne in mind, to account for this expenditure for a brief season, that almost every housekeeper will expend something in " Christ- raasing ;" from 2d. to 1*. 6d., and the poor buy a pennyworth, or a halfpennyworth each, and they are the coster's customers. In some houses, which are let ofl* in rooms, floors, or suites of apartments, and not to the poorest class, every room will have the cheery decoration of holly, its bright, and as if glaxed leaves and red berries, reflecting the light from flre or candle. " Then, look," said a gardener to me, ** what's spent on a Christmasing the churches ! Why, now, pro- perly to Christmas St Paul's, I say properly , mind, would take 50/. worth at least ; aye, more, when I think of it, nearer 100/. I hope there '11 be no * No Popery ' nonsense against Christmas- ing this year. I'm always sorry when anything of that kind's afloat, because it's frequently a hind- rance to business." This was said three weeks before Christmas. In London there are upwards of 300,000 inhabited houses. The whole of the evergreen branches sold nimiber 875,000. Even the ordinary-sized inns, I was informed, displayed holly decorations, costing from 2«. to IO5. ; while in the larger inns, where, perhaps, an assembly-room, a concert-room, or a club- room, had to be adorned, along with other apartments, 20s, worth of holly, &c., was a not uncommon outlay. " Well, then, consider," said another informant, " the plum-puddings I Why, at least there's a hundred thousand of 'em eaten, in London, through the Christmas and the month following. That 's nearly one pud- ding to every twenty of the population, is it, sir? Well, perhaps, that's too much. But, then, there's the great numbers eaten at public dinners and suppers; and there's more plum-pudding clubs at the small grocers and public-houses than there used to be, so, say full a hundred thousand, flinging in any mince- pies that may be decorated with ever- greens. Well, sir, every plum-pudding will have a sprig of holly in him. If it 's bought just for the occasion, it may cost 1^, to be really prime and nicely berried. If it's part of a lot, why it won't cost a halfpenny, so reckon it all at a halfpenny. What does that come to ? Above 200/. Think of that, then, just for sprigging puddings I" Mistletoe, I am informed, is in somewhat less demand than it was, though there might be no very perceptible diflerence. In many houses holly is now used instead of the true plant, for the ancient ceremonies and privileges observed " under the mistletoe bough." The holly is not half the price of the mistletoe, which is one reason ; for, though there is not any great dis- parity of price, wholesale, the holly, which costs 6d, retail, is more than ftie quantity of mistletoe retailed for 1*. The nolly- tree may be grown in any hedge, and ivy may be reared against any wall ; while the mistletoe is para- sitical of the apple-tree, and, but not to half the extent, of the oak and other trees. It does not grow in the northern counties of England. The purchasers of the mistletoe are, for the most part, the wealthier classes, or, at any rate, I was told, " those who give parties." It is bought, too, by the male servants in large establish- ments, and more would be so bought, " only so few of the great people, of the most fashionable squares and places, keep their Christmas in town." Half-a-crown is a not uncommon price for a handsome mistletoe bough. The costermongers buy about a half of the holly, &c., brought to the markets; it is also sold either direct to those requiring evergreens, or to green-grocers and fruiterers who have re- ceived orders for it from their customers, or who know it will be wanted. A shilling's worth may be bought in the market, the bundles being di- , vided. Mistletoe, the costers — those having regular customers in the suburbs — receive orders for. " Last December," said a coster to me, *' I remember a servant-girl, and she weren't such a girl either, running after me in a regular flutter, to tell me the family had forgot to order 2s. worth of mistletoe of me, to be brought next day. Oh, yes, sir, if it's ordered by, or delivered to, the servant- girls, they generally have a little giggling about it If I've said : * "What are you laugh- ing at?' they'll mostly say: *Me! I'm not laughing.' " The costermongers go into the neighbour- Digitized by Google 142 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, hood of London to procure the holly for street- sale. This is chiefly done, I was told, by those who were " cracked up," and some of them laboured at it " days and days." It is, however, a very uncertain trade, as they must generally trespass, and if they are caught trespassing, by the occupier of the land, or any of his servants, they are seldom " given in charge," but their stock of evergreens is not unJErequently taken from them, " and that, sir, that's the cuttingest of all." They do not so freely venture upon the gathering of mistle- toe, for to procure it they must trespass in orchards, wluch is somewhat dangerous work, and they are in constant apprehension of traps, spring-guns, and bull-dogs. Six or seven hun- dred men or lads, the lads being the most numerous, are thus employed for a week or two before Christmas, and, perhaps, half that number, irregularly at intervals, for a week or two after it Some of the lads are not known as regular coster-lads, but they are habituh of the streets in some capacity. To procure as much holly one day, as will sell for 2s. 6d. the next, is accounted pretty good work, and 7«. 6d. would be thus realised in six days. But 6s. is more frequently the return of six days* labour and sale, though a very few have cleared 10*., and one man, " with unconunon luck," once cleared 20;. in six days. The distance tra- velled in a sh^rt winter's day, is sometimes twenty miles, and, perhaps, the lad or man has not broken his fast, en some days, until the evening, or even the next morning, for had he possessed a few pence he would probably have invested it in oranges or nuts, for street-sale, rather than " go a-gathering Christmas." One strong-looking lad, of 16 or 17, gave me the following account : — " It's hard work, is Christmasing ; but, when you have neither money nor woric, you must do something, and so the holly may come in handy. I live with a elder brother ; he helps the masons, and as we had neither of us either woric or money, he cut off Tottenham and Ed- monton way, and me the t'other side of the water, MorUake way, as well as I know. We 'd both been used to costering, off and on. I was out, I think, ten days altogether, and didn't make 6^. in it I 'd been out two Christinases before. O, yes, I'd forgot I made 6tL over the 6«., for I had half a pork-pie and a pint of beer, and the landlord took it out in holly. I meant to have made a quarter of pork do, but I was so hungry — and so would you, sir, if you'd ' been out a-Cnnstmasing — that I had the t'other ?uarter. It's 2d. a quarter. I did better when was out afore, but I forget what I made. It's often slow work, for you must wait some- times 'till no one's looking, and then you must work away like anything. I'd nothing but a sharp knife, I borrowed, and some bits of cord to tie the holly up. You must look out t>harp, because, you see, sir, a man very likely won't like his holly-tree to be strippeid. Wherever there is a berry, we goes for the berries. | They're poison berries, I've heard. Moon- light nights is the thing, sir, when you knows where you are. I never goes for mizzletoe. I hardly knows it when I sees it The first time r was out, a man got me to go for some in a orchard, and told me how to manage ; but I cut my lucky in a minute. Sometlung came over me like. I felt sickish. But what can a poor fellow do? I never lost my Christmas, but a little bit of it once. Two men took it from me, and said I ought to thank them for letting me off without a jolly good jacket- ing, as they was gardeners. I believes they was men out a- Christmasing, as I were. It was a dreadful cold time that; and I was wet, and hungry, — and thirsty, too, for all I was so wet, — and I'd to wait a-watching in the wet I've got something better to do now, and I'll never go a-Christmasing again, if I can help it" This lad contrived to get back to his lodging, in town, every night, but some of those out Christmasing, stay two or three days and nights in the country, sleeping in bams, out-houses, carts, or under hay-stacks, inclement as the weather may be, when their funds are insuffi- cient to de&ay the charge of a bed, or a part of one, at a country " dossing-crib " (low lodging- house). They resorted, in considerable num- bers, to the casual wards of the workhouses, in Croydon, Greenwich, Reigate, Dartford, &c., when that accommodation was afforded them, concealing their holly for the night. As in other matters, it may be a surprise to some of my readers to learn in what way the evergreens, used on festive occasions in their homes, may have been procured. The costermongers who procure their own Christmasing, generally hawk it A few sell it by the lot to their more prosperous brethren. What the costers purchase in the market, they aim to sell at cent per cent Supposing that 700 men and lads 'gathered their own holly, &c, and each worked for three weeks (not regarding interruptions), and calcu- lating that, in the time they cleared even 1 5s. each, it amounts to 6751. Some of the costermongers deck their carts and barrows, in the general line, wkh holly at Christmas. Some go out with their carts full of holly, for sale, and may be accompanied by a fiddler, or by a person beating a drum. The cry is, " HoUy ! Green Holly ! " One of my informants alluded incidentally to the decoration of the churches, and I may ob- serve that they used to be far more pronisely decked with Christmas evergreens than at pre- sent ; so much so, that a lady correspondent in January, 1712, complained to " Mr. Spectator" that her church-going was bootless. She was constant at church, to hear divine service and make conquests ; but the clerk had so overdone the greens in the church that, for three weeks, Miss Jenny Simper had not even seen the young baronet, whom she dressed at for divme wor- ship, although he pursued his devotions only three pews fVom hers. The aisle was a pretty Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. 143 shady walk, and each pew was an arhour. The pulpit was so clustered with holly and ivy that the congregation, like Moses, heard the word out of a-hush. " Sir Anthony Love's pew in particu- lar/' concludes the indignant Miss Simper, 'Ms so well hedged, that all my batteries have no efiect. I am obliged to shoot at random among the boughs without taking any manner of aim. Mr. Spectator, unless you'll give orders for re- moving these greens, I shall grow a very awk- ward creature at church, and soon have little else to do there but to say my prayers." In a subsequent number, the clerk* glorifies himself that he had checked tlie ogling of Miss Simper. He had heard how the Kentish men evaded the Conqueror by displaying green boughs be- fore them, and so he bethought him of a like device against the love- warfare of this coquettish lady. Of all the ** branches" in the markets, the costers buy one-halt This season, holly has been cheaper than was ever known previously. In some years, its price was double that cited, in some treble, )vhen Uie Decenaber was very frosty. Op the Sale of May, Palm, etc. TuE sale of the May, the fragrant flower of the hawthorn, a tree indigenous to this country — Wordsworth mentions one which must have been 800 years old — is carried on by the coster boys (principally), but only in a desultory way. The chief supply is brought to London in the carts or barrows of the costers returning from a country expedition. If the costermonger be accompanied by a lad — as he always is if the expedition be of any length — the lad will say to his master, '* Bill, let's have some May to take back." The man will almost always con- sent, and often assist in procuring the thickly green branches with their white or rose-tinted, and /r6«A<2^- smelling flowers. The odour of the hawthorn blossom is peculiar, and some emi- nent boCanist — Dr. Withering if I remember rightly — says it may be best described as "fresh." No flower, perhaps, is blended with more poetical, antiquarian, and beautiful asso- ciations than the ever-welcome blossom of the may-tree. One gardener told me that as the hawthorn was in perfection in June instead of May, the name was not proper. But it must be remembered that the name of the flower was given during the old style, which carried our present month of May twelve days into June, and the name would then be more ap- propriate. The May is obtained by the costermongers in the same way as the hoUy, by cutting it from the trees in the hedges. It has sometimes to be cut or broken off stealthily, for persons may no more like their hawthorns to be stripped than their hollies, and an ingenuous lad — as will have been observed—told me of " people's " objections to the unauthorized stripping of their holly-bushes. But there is not a quarter of the difficulty in procuring May that there is in pro- curing holly at Christinas. The costermonger, if he has "done tidy'' in the country will very probably leave the May at the disposal of his bov ; but a few men, though perhaps little more than twenty, I was told, bring it on their own account The lads then carry the branches about for sale ; or if a considerable quantity has been brought, dispose of it to other boys or girls, or entrust them, with the sale of it, at " half-profits," or any terms agreed upon. Costermongers have been known to bring home ''a load of May," and this not unfrequently, at the request, and for the benefit of a " cracked-up " brother-trader, to whom it has been at once delivered gratuitously. A lad, whom I met with as he was selling holly, told me that he had brought may from the country when he had been there with a coster. He had also gone out of town a few miles to gather it on his own accomit " But it ain't no good ; " he said ; " you must often go a good way — I never knows anything about how many miles— and if it's very ripe (the word he used) it's soon shaken. There's no sure price. You may get 4<^ for a big branch or you must take \d* I iftiy have made 1«. on a round but hardly ever more. It can't be got near hana. There *s some stun- ning fine trees at the top of the park there (the Regent's Park) the t'other side of the 'logical Gardens, but there's always a cove looking after them, they say, and boUi night and day." Palm, the flower of any of the numerous species of the willow, is sold only on Palm Sunday, and the Saturday preceding. The trade is about equally in the hands of the English and Irish lads, but the English lads have a commercial advantage on the morning of Palm Sunday, when so many of the Iri^ lads are at chapel. The palm is all gathered by the street-vend(n*s. One costermonger told me that when he was a lad, he had sold palm to a man who had managed to get half- drunk on a Sunday morning, and who told hiin that he wanted it to show his wife, who very seldom stirred out, tliat he'd been taking a healthful walk into the country ! Lilac in flower is sold (and procured) in the same way as May, but in small quantities. Very rarely indeed, laburnum ; which is too fragile ; or syringa, which, I am told, is hardly saleable in the streets. One informant remem- bered that forty years ago, when he was a boy, branches of elder- berry flowers were sold in tlie streets, but the trade has disappeared. It is very difficult to form a calculation as to the extent of this trade. The best informed give me reason to believe that the sale of all Uiese branches (apart from Christmas) ranges, according to circumstances, from 80/. to 60/., the cost being tlie labour of gathering, and the subsistence of the labourer while at the work. This is independent of what the costers buy in the markets. I now show the quantity of branches forming the street trade : — Digitized by Google 144 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, Holly . Mistletoe Iyy and Laurel Lilac Palm . May 59,040 bunches 56,160 26,640 „ 5,400 1,008 2,520 „ Total number of bunches ^ sold in the streets from > 150,000 market-sale . . j Add to quantity fromi yc ^^ other sources . ./ '^'"^ 225,768 The quantity of branches " from other sources" is that gathered by the costers in the way I have described ; but it is impossible to obtain a return of it with proper precision : to state it as half of that purchased in the markets is a low average. I now mve the amount paid by street-buyers who induW in the healthful and innocent tastes of which 1 have been treating — the fondness for the beautiful and the natural BuDchei^ CUT FLOWERS. per bunch 65,280 Violets . . 115,200 Waliaowers .• 86,400 Mignonette 1,632 LiUes of the Valley „ 20,448 Stocks . . . . „ 316,800 Pmks and Carnations „ 864,000 Moss Roses . . . „ 864,000 China ditto . . . „ 296,640 Larender . . . „ at yL » Id, £136 240 Id, . 360 \d, , 8 \d, . 42 Id, each 660 Id, „ 1,800 Id, „ 1,800 Id, . 1,236 24,000 34,560 28,800 33,600 46,080 28,800 28,800 38,400 30,380 23,040 19,200 3,456 12,960 660 850 7,704 3,180 253,440 11.520 25,595 9,156 63,360 852 13,356 1,920 6,912 Total annually . FLOWBR ROOTS. Primroses .... Polyanthuses . . . Cowslips Daisies Wallflowers .... Candy-tufts .... Daffodils Violete Mignonette .... Stocks Pinks and Carnations Lilies of the Valley . Pansies Lilie* Tulips Balsams Calceolarias .... Musk Plante . . . London Pride . . . Lupins China-asters . . . Marigolds . . . Dahlias Heliotropes .... Poppies Michaelmas Daisies . £6,277 per root at \d, » Id, » Id, ., Id. ,. Id, „ Id, „ K u hd. » irf. „ Id, » 2d, „ Id, u Id, n 2d, M 2d, .. 2d, u 2d, ,, Id, „ Id, „ Id, ,. Id, >, kd- u Qd, » 2d, „ 2d, » Id. . £50 . 144 . 50 . 140 . 192 . 120 . 60 . 80 . 63 . 96 . 160 . 14 , 54 5 7 . 64 . 26 1,056 , 48 106 38 132 21 111 16 14 Total annually . £2,867 BRANCHES. Bunches of per bunch 59,040 Holly at 3^. £738 56,160 Mistletoe „ 3rf. . 702 26,640 Ivy and Laurel . . , „ 8d. , 333 5,400 Lilac „ Sd. . 67 1,008 Palm » 3rf. . 12 2,520 May 3folk. Of this description of cress they purchase one- half of all that is sold in Farringdon ; of the finer, and smaller, and brown-leaved cress sold there, they purchase hardly any. At Covent Garden only the finer sorts of cress are in demand, and, consequently, the itinerants buy only an eighth in that market, and they are not encouraged there. They purchase half the quantity in the Borough, and the same in Spital- fields, and a third at Portman. I have before mentioned that 500 might be taken as the number supported by the sale of "creases;" that is, 500 families, or at least 1,000 indi- viduals. The total amount received is nearly 14,000/., and this apportioned among 1,000 street- sellers, gives a weekly receipt of 5*. 5rf., with a profit of 3*. 3d, per individual. The discrepancy is further accounted for because the other market salesmen buy cresses at Farringdon ; but I have given under the head of Farringdon ail that is sold to those other markets to be disposed to the street- sellers, and the returns from the other markets arc of the cresses carried direct there, apart from any purchases at Farringdon. Of Groundsel and Chickweed Sellers. On a former occasion (in the Morning Chronicle) I mentioned that I received a letter inform- ing me that a womin, residing in one of the courts about Saffiron-hill, was making braces, and receiving only 1*. for four dozen of them. I was assured she was a most deserving character, strictly sober, and not receiving parochial relie£ " Her husband," my informant added, " was paralysed, and endeavoured to assist his family by gathering green food for birds. They are in deep distress, but their character is irreproach- able." I foimd the couple located up a court, the entrance to which was about as narrow as the opening to a sentry-box, and on each side lolled groups of labourers and costermongers, with short black pipes in their mouths. As I dived into the court, a crowd followed me to see whither I was going. The brace-maker lived on the first floor of a crazy, foetid house. I ascended the stairs, and the banisters, from which the rails had all been purloined, gave way in my hands. I found the woman, man, and their family busy at their tea- dinner. In a large broken chair, beside the fire-place, was the old paralysed man, dressed in a ragged greasy fiistian coat, his beard unshorn, and his hair in the wildest disorder. On the edge of the bed sat a cleanly looking woman, his wife, with a black apron on. Standing by the table was a blue-eyed laughing and shoeless boy, with an old camlet cape pinned over his shoul- ders. Next him was a girl in a long grey pin^ afore, with her hair cut close to her head, with the exception of a few locks in front, which hung down over her forehead like a dirty fringe. On a chair near the window stood a basket half full of chickweed and groundsel and two large cabbages. There was a stufibd linnet on the mantel-piece and an empty cage hanging out- side the window. In front of the window-sill was the small imitation of a gate and palings, so popular among the workpeople. On the table were a loaf, a few mugs of milkless tea and a small piece of butter in a saucer. I hac , scarcely entered when the mother began to re- move the camlet cape from the boy's shoulders, and to slip a coarse clean pinafore over his head instead. At present I have only to deal with the trade of the husband, who made the following statement : " I sell chickweed and grunsell, and turfs for larks. That's all I sell, unless it's a few nettles that's ordered. I believe they're for tea, sir. I gets the chickweed at Chalk Farm. I nay notning for it I gets it out of the public nelds. Every morning about seven I goes for it The grunsell a gentleman gives me leave to get out of his garden : that's down Battle- bridge way, in the Chalk- road, leading to Hol- loway. I gets there every morning about nine. I goes there straight After I have got my chick- weed, I generaUy gathers enough of each to make up a dozen halfpenny bunches. The turfs I buys. A young man calls here with them. I gay 2i « qaq at irf. per bunch / ^^^f^*^ 5,616,000 „ groundsel, at |rf. 11,700 1,120,800 „ chickweed and\ « «„- plantain / ^'^^'^ 660;000 turfs, at 2^(1, per doz. . 520 28,504 Of the above amount, it may be said that upwards of 14,000/. are spent yearly on what may be called the bird-food of Loudon. OF THE STREET-SELLERS OF EATABLES AND DRINKABLES. These dealers were, more numerous, even when the metropolitan population was but half its present extent. I heard several causes assigned for this, — such as the higher rate of earnings of the labouring people at that time, as well as the smaller number of shopkeepers who deal in such cheap luxuries as penny pies, and the fewer places of cheap amusement, such as the "penny gaffe." These places, I was told, ** run away with the young people's pennies," wliich were, at one period, expended m the streets. The class engaged in the manufacture, or in the sale, of these articles, are a more intelligent people than the generality of street-sellers. They have nearly all been mechanics who, from inability to procure employment at their several crafts — from dislike to an irksome and, perhaps, sedentary confinement — or from an overpower- ing desire "to be their own masters." have sought a livelihood in the streets. The purchase and sale of fish, fruit, or vegetables require no great training or deftness; but to make the dainties, in which street-people are critical, and to self them at the lowest possible price, certainly requires some previous discipline to produce the skill to combine and the taste to please. I nyiy here observe, that I found it common enough Anong these street-sellers to describe themselves and their fraternity not by their names or callings, but by the article in which they dcaL This is sometimes ludicrous enough : " Is the man you're asking about a pickled whelk, sir?" was said to me. In answer to anotlier inquiry, I was told, " Oh, yes, I know him — he's a sweet-stuffi" Such ellipses, or abbreviations, are common in all mechanical or commercial callings. Men and women, and most especially boys, purchase their meals day after day in the streets. ITie coff*ee-stall supplies a wann breakfast ; shell- fish of many kinds tempt to a luncheon ; hot-eels or pea-soup, fianked by a potato " all hot," serve for a dinner; and cakes and tarts, or nuts and oranges, with many varieties of pastry, confectionary, and fruit, woo to indul- gence in a dessert ; while for supper there is a sandwich, a meat pudding, or a " trotter." The street provisions consist of cooked or prepared victuals, which may be divided into solids, pastry, confectionary, and drinkables. The " solids " however, of tliese three divi- sions, are such as only regular street-buyers consider to be sufficing for a substantial meal, for it will be seen that the comestibles accounted "good for dinner," are all of a dainty ^ rather than a solid character. Men whose lives, as I have before stated, are alternations of starvation Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, 159 and surfeit, love some easily- swallowed and comfortable food, better than the most approved substantiality of a dinner-table. I was told by a man, who was once foodless for thirty-eight hours, that in looking into the window of a cook- shop— he longed far more for a basin of soup than for a cut from the boiled round, or the roasted ribs, of beefl He felt a gnawing rather than a ravenous desire, and some tasty semi- h'quid was the incessant object of his desires. The solids then, according to street estima- tion, consist of hot- eels, pickled whelks, oysters, sheep's-trotters, pea-soup, fried fish, ham-sand- wiches, hot green peas, kidney puddings, boiled meat puddings, beef, mutton, kidney, and eel pies, and baked potatos. In each of these pro- visions the street poor find a mid-day or mid- night meal. The pastry and confectionary which tempt the street eaters are tarts of rhubarb, currant, gooseberry, cherry, apple, damson, cranberry, and (so called) mince pies; plimi dough and plum-cake; lard, currant, almond and many other varieties of cakes, as well as of tarts; gingerbread - nuts and heart- cakes ; Chelsea buns; muffins and crumpets; "sweet stuff" includes the several kinds of rocks, sticks, lozen- ges, candies, and hard-bakes; the medicinal confectionary of cough-drops and horehound; and, lastly, the more novel and aristocratic luxury of street-ices ; and strawberry cream, at Id, a glass, (in Greenwich Park). The drinkables are tea, cofibe, and cocoa; ginger -beer, lemonade, Persian sherbet, and some highly-coloured beverages which have no specific name, but are introduced to the public as "cooling" drinks; hot elder cordial or wine ; peppermint water ; curds and whey ; water (as at Hampstead) ; rice milk ; and milk in the parks. At different periods there have been attempts to introduce more substantial viands into the street provision trade, but all within these twenty years have been exceptional and unsuccessful. One man a few years back established a port- able cook-shop in Leather-lane, cutting out portions of the jmnts to be carried away or eaten on the spot, at the buyer's option. But the speculation was a failure. Black puddings used to be sold, until a few years back, smoking from cans, not unlike potato cans, in such places as the New Cut ; but tlie trade in these rather suspicious articles gradually disappeared. Mr. Albert Smith, who is an acute observer in all such matters, says, in a lively article on the Street Boys of London : " The kerb is his club, offering all the advan- tages of one of those institutions without any subscription or ballot Had he a few pence, he might dine equally well as at Blackwall, and with tlie same vanety of delicades without going twenty yards from the pillars of St. Clement's churchyard. He might begin with a water souchie of eels, varying his first course with pickled whelks, cold fried flounders, or periwinkles. Whitebait, to be sure, he would find a difficulty in procuring, but as the more cunning gourmands do not believe these deli- cacies to be fish at all, but merely little bits of light pie -crust fried in grease; — and as moreover, the brown bread and butter is after all the grand attraction,— the boy might soon find a substitute. Then would come the potatos, apparently giving out so much steam that the can which contains them seems in momentary danger of blowing up ; large, hot, mealy fellows, that prove how unfounded were the jilarms of the bad-crop-ites ; and he miglit next have a course of boiled feet of some animal or other, which he would be certain to find in front of the gin-shop. Cyder-cups perhaps he would not eet; but there would be 'ginger- beer from the fountain, at Id, per glass;' and instead of mulled claret, he could indulge in hot elder cordial; whilst for dessert he could calculate upon all the delicacies of the season, from the salads at the corner of Wych-street to the baked apples at Temple Bar. None of these things would cost more than a penny a piece ; some of them would be under that sum ; and since as at Verey's, and some other foreign restaurateurs, there is no objection to your dividing the "portions," the boy might, if he felt inclined to give a dinner to a friend, girt off under 6d. There would be the digestive advantage too of moving leisurely about from one course to another ; and, above all, there would be no fee to waiters." After alluding to the former glories of some of the street- stands, more especially of the kidney pudding establishments which displayed rude transpa- rencies, one representing the courier of St. Petersburg riding six horses at once for a kidney pudding, Mr. Smith continues, — " But of all these eating- stands the chief favourite with the boy is the potato-can. They collect around it as they would do on 'Change, and there talk over local matters, or discuss the affairs of the a^acent cab-stand, in wliich tlicy are at times joined by the waterman whom they respect, more so perhaps than the policeman ; certainly more than they do the street-keeper, for him they especially delight to annoy, and they watch any of their fellows eating a potato, with a curiosity and an attention most remark- able, as if no two persons fed in the same manner, and they expected something strange or diverting to happen at every mouthful." A gentleman, who has taken an artist's inte- rest in all connected with the streets, and has been familiar with their daily and nightly aspect from the commencement of the present century, considers that the great change is not so much in what has ceased to be sold, but in the intro- duction of fresh articles into street- traffic — such as pine-apples and Brazil-nuU, rhubarb and cucumbers, ham-sandwiches, ginger-beer, &c. The coflee-stall, he represents, has but super- seded the saloop- stall (of which I have previ- ously, spoken) ; while the class of street-custom- ers who supported the saloop- dealer now support the purveyor of coffee. The afffiearance of the Digitized by Google 160 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. two stalls, however, seen 1>ftbre daybreak, with their respective customers, on a bleak winter's morning, was very diflerent Round the saloop- stall was a group — hardly discernible at a little distance in the dunly-lighted streets — the pro- minent figures being of two callings now extinct — the climbing-boy and the old hackney-coach- man. The little sweep would have his saloop smoking hot — and there was the common appliance of a oharcoal grate— regaling himself with the sa- voury steam until the mess was cool enough for him to swallow ; whilst he sought to relieve his naked feet from the numbing effects of the cold by standing now on the right foot and now on the left, and swinging the other to and fro, until a change of posture was necessitated ; his white teeth the while gleamed from his sooty visage as he gleefully licked his lips at the warm and oily breakfast The old hackney-coachman was wrapped up in a many-caped great coat, drab — when it left the tailor's hands some years before — but then worn and discoloured, and, perhaps, patched or tattered; its weight alone, iiowever, communi- cated a sort of warmth to tlie wearer ; his legs were closely and artistically " wisped" with hay- bands ; and as he kept smiting his chest witli liis arms, "to keep the cold out," while his saloop was cooling, he would, in no very gentle terms, express his desire to add to its comforting in- fluence the stimulant of a " flash of lightning," a " go of rum," or a " glass of max,"— for so a dram of neat spirit was then called. The old watchman of that day, too, almost as heanly coated as the hackneyman, would some- times partake of the street " Saloop-loop-loop ! ^a-loop ! ** The woman of the tol^^l, in " looped and windowed raggedness," the outcast of the very lowest class, was at the saloop, as she is now and then at the coffee- stall, waiting until daylight drove her to her filthy lodging-house. But the climbing-boy has, happily, left no suc- cessor ; the hackneyman has been succeeded by the jauntier cabman; and the .taciturn old watchman by the lounging and trim policeman. Another class of street- sellers, no longer to be seen, were the " barrow-women." They sold fruit of all kinds, little else, in very clean white barrows, and their fruit was excellent, and pur- chased by the wealthier classes. They were, for the most part, Irish women, and some were re- markable for beauty. Their dress was usually a good chintz gown, the skirt being tidily tucked or pinned up behind, ** in a way," said one in- formant, " now sometimes seen on the stage when correctness of costume is cared for." These women were prosperous in their callfbg, nor was there any imputation on their chastity, as the mothers were almost always wives. Concerning the bygrone street-cries, I had also the following account from the personal observation of an able correspondent : — " First among the old * mnsical cries,* may be cited the * Tiddy Doll !'— immortalized by Hogarth— then comes the last person, who, with a fine bass voice, coaxed his customers to buy sweets with, ' Quack, quack, quack, quack ! Browns, browns, browns! have you got any mouldy browns ?.' There was a man, too, who sold tripe, &c., in this way, and to some purpose; he was as fine a man as ever stepped, and his deep rich voice would ring through a whole street, 'Dog's-meat! cat's-meat! nice tripe! neat's ffeet ! Come buy my trotters ! ' The last part would not have disgraced Lablache. He discovered a new way of pickling tripe— ^got on — made contracts for supplying the Navy during the war, and acquired a large property. One of our most successful artists is his .grandson. Then there was that delight of our childhood — the eight o'clock * Hot spiced gingerbread ! hot spiced gingerbread ! buy my spiced gingerbread ! sm-o-o-king hot ! ' " Another informant remem- bered a very popular character (among the boys), whose daily cry was : " Hot spiced gingerbread nuts, nuts, nuts ! If one'll warm you, wha-ai*\\ a pound do? — Wha-a-a-aV\l a pound do?" Gingerbread was formerly in much greater de- mand than it is now. Op the Street-sellers op Pea-Soup and Hot £bl8. Two of the condiments greatly relished by the chilled labourers and others who regale them- selves on street luxuries, are "pea-soup" and ** hot eels." Of these tradesmen there may be 500 now in the streets on a Saturday. As the two trades are frequently carried on by the same party, I sKall treat of them together. The greatest number of these stands is in Old -street, St Luke's, about twenty. In warm weather these street- cooks deal only in "hot eels" and whelks ; as the whelk trade is sometimes an ac- companiment of the others, for then the soup will not sell. These dealers are stationary, having stalls or stands in the street, and the savoury odour from them attracts more hungry-looking gazers and longers than does a cook-shop window. They seldom move about, but generally frequent the same place. A celebrated dealer of this class has a stand in Clare-street, Clare-market, op- posite a cat's-meat shop ; he has been heard to boast, that he wouldn't soil his hands at the busi- ness if he didn't get his 30*. a day, and his 2L 10*. on a Saturday. Half this amount is considered to be about the truth. This person has mostly all the trade for hot eels in the Clare-market dis- trict There is another "hot eel purveyor" at the end of Windmill- street, Tottenham- court- road, that does a very good trade. It is thought that he makes about 5s, a day at the business, and about 10*. on Saturday. There was, before the removals, a man who came out about five every afternoon, standing in the New-cut, nearly opposite the Victoria Theatre, his " girl " always attending to the stall. He had two or three lamps with "hot eels" painted upon them, and a handsome stall. He was considered to make about 7*. a day by the sale of eels alone, but he dealt in fried fish and pickled whelks as well, and of^en had a pile of fried fish a foot high. Near the Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. 161 Bricklayers* Arms, at the junction of the Old and New Kent-roads, a hot-eel man dispenses what a juvenile customer assured me was " as spicy as any in London, as if there was gin in it" But the dealer in Clare-market does the largest trade of all in the hot-eel line. He is " the head man." On one Saturday he was known to sell lOOlbs. of eels, and on most Saturdays he will get rid of his four ** draughts" of eels (a draught being 20lbs.) He and his son are dressed in Jenny Lind hats, bound with blue velvet, and both dispense the provisions, while the daughter attends to wash the cups. ** On a Sunday, anybody," said my informant, " would think him the. first nobleman or squire in the land, to see him dressed in his white hat, with black crape round it, and his drab paletot and mother-o'- pearl buttons, and black kid gloves, with the fingers too long for him." I may add, that even the very poorest, who have only a halfpenny to spend, as well as those with better means, resort to the stylish stalls in preference to the others. The eels are all purchased at Billingsgate early in the morning. The parties themselves, or their sons or dau^ters, go to Billingsgate, and tlie water- men row them to the Dutch eel vessels moored off tlie market The fare paid to tlie watennen is Id. for every lOlbs. purchased and brought hack in the boat, the passenger being gratis. These dealers generally trade on their own capital ; but when some have been having " a flare up," and have ** broke down for stock," to use the words of my informant, they borrow 1/., and pay it back in a week or a fortnight at the outside, and give 2^. for the loan of it The money is usually borrowed of the barrow, truck, and basket-lenders. The amount of capital re- quired for carrying on the business of course depends on the trade done ; but even in a small way, the utensils cost W. They consist of one fish-kettle and one soup-kettle, holding upon an average three gallons each ; besides these, five basins and five cups and ten spoons are re- quired, also a washhand basin to wash the cups, basins, and spoons in, and a lioard and tressel on which the whole stand. In a large way, it re- quires from 3i. to 4/. to fit up a handsome stall. For this the party would have " two fine kettles," holding about four gallons each, and two patent cast-iron fireplaces (the 1^ outfit only admits of the bottoms of two tin saucepans being used as fireplaces, in which charcoal is always burning to keep the eels and soup hot ; tlie whelks are always eaten cold). The crockery and spoons would be in no way superior. A small dealer requires, over and above this sum, lOs. to go to market with and purchase stock, and the large dealer abont 30*. The class of persons belong- ing to the business have either been bred to it, or taken to it through being out of work. Some have been disabled during their work, and have resorted to it to save themselves from the work- house. The price of the hot eels is a halfpenny for five or seven pieces of fish, and three-parts of a cupfull of liquor. The charge for a half- pint of pea-soup is a halfpenny, and the whelks are sold, according to the size, from a halfpenny each to three or four for the same sum. These are put out in saucers. The eels are Dutch, and are cleaned and washed, and cut in small pieces of from a half to an inch each. [The daughter of one of my informants was busily engaged, as I derived this information, in the cutting of the fish. She worked at a blood-stained board, with a pile of pieces on one side and a heap of entrails on the other.] The portions so cut are then boiled, and the liquor is thickened with flour and flavoifled with chopped parsley and mixed spices. It is kept hot in the streets, and served out, as I have stated, in halfpenny cupfulls, with a small quan- tity of vinegar and pepper. The best purveyors add a little butter. The street-boys are extra- vagant in their use of vinegar. To dress a draught of eels takes three hours — to clean, cut them up, and cook them suflBciently ; and the cost is now 5s. 2d. (much lower in the summer) for the draught (the 2d. being the ex . pense of ** shoring"), M. for 4 -lb. of flour to thicken the liquor, 24. for the parsley to flavour it, and 1*. Qd. for the vinegar, spices, and pepper (about three quarts of vinegar and two ounces of pepper). This quantity, when dressed and seasoned, will fetch in halfpennyworths from 15*. to 18*. The profit upon this would be from Is. to 9*. (id. ; but the cost of the charcoal has to be deducted, as well as the salt used while cooking. These two items amount to about 5d. The pea- soup consists of split peas, celery, and beef bones. Five pints, at 3Jrf. a quart, are used to every three gallons ; the bones cost 2//., carrots Irf., and celery \d. — these cost 1*. OJrf. ; and the pepper, salt, and mint, to season it, about 2d. This, when served in halfpenny basin- fulls, will fetch from 2*. M. to 2*. 4est time of the year for the hot eels is from the middle of June to the end of August On some days during that time a person in a small way of business will clear upon an average 1«. Qd, a day, on other days 1«. ; on some days, during the month of August, as much as 2s. 6d. a day. Some cry out ** Nice hot eels — nice hot eels!" or "Warm your hands and fill your bellies for a halfpenny." One man used to give his surplus eels, when he considered his sale completed on a night, to the poor creatures refused admission into a workhouse, lending them his charcoal fire for warmth, which was always returned to him. The poor creatures begged cinders, and carried the fire under a railway arclu The general rule, however, is for the dealer to be silent, and merely expose the articles for sale. " I likes better/' said one man to me, " to touch up people's noses than their heyes or their hears." There are now in the trade almost more than can get a living at it, and their earnings are less than they were formerly. One party attributed this to the opening of a coupl» of penny-pie shops in his neighbourhood, before then he could get 2t, 6d. a £iy clear, take one day with another; but since the establishment of the business in the penny- pie line he cannot take above 1«. 6d. a day clear. On the day the first of these pie- shops opened, it made as much as 10 lbs., or half a draught of eels, di^rence to him. There was a band of music and an illumination at the pie- shop, and it was impossible to stand against tluU. The fashionable dress of the trade is the "Jenny Lind" or "wide-awake" hat, with a broad olack ribbon tied round it, and a white apron and sleeves. The dealers usually go to Hampton-court or Greenwich on a fine Sunday. They are partial to the pit of Astley's. One of them told his waterman at Billingsgate the other morning that " he and his good lady had been werry amused with the osses at Hashley's last night" Op the Experience op a Hot-Eel and Pea-soup Man. " I was a coalheaver," said one of the*class to me, as I sat in his attic up a close court, watching his wife "thicken the liquor;" "I was a-going along the plank, from one barge to another, when the swell of some steamers throwed the plank off the * horse,' and chucked me down, and broke my knee agin the side of the barge. Before that I was yarning upon an average my 20*. to 80*. a week. I was seven months and four days in King's College Hos- pital after this. I found they was a-doing me no good there, so I come out and went over to Bartholemy's Hospital. I was in there nine- teen months altogether, and after that I was a month in Middlesex Hospital, and ail on 'em turned me out oncurable. You see, the bone's decayed — four bits of bone have been taken from it The doctor turned me out three times 'cause I wouldn't have it off. He asked my wife if she would give consent, but neither she nor my daughter would listen to it, so I was turned out on 'em all. How my family lived all this time it's hard to tell. My eldest boy did a little— got 8#. 6d. a week as an errand-boy, and my daughter was in service, and did a little for me ; but that was all we had to live upon. There was six children on my hands, and however they did manage I can't say. After I came out of the hospital I applied to the parish, and was allowed 2*. 6d, a week and four loaves. But I was anxious to do something, so a master butcher, as I knowed, said he would get me * a pitch ' (the right to fix a stall), if I thought I could at at a stall and sell a few things. I told him I thought I could, and would be very thankful for it. Well, I had heard how the man up in the market was making a fortune at the hot- eel and pea-soup line. [A paviour as left his barrow and two shovels with me told me to-day, said the man, by way of parenthesis — * that he knowed for a fact he was clearing 6/. a week regular.'] So I thought I'd have a touch at the same thing. But you see, I never could rise money enough to get sufficient stock to make a do of it, and never shall, I expect^it don't seem like it, however. I ought to have 5s. to go to market with to-morrow, and I ain't got above 1*. 6d. ; and what's that for stock- money, I'd like to know? Well, as I was 8a3ring, the master butcher lent me 10*. to Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. 1G3 start in the line. He was the hest friend I ever had. But I've never heen able to do anything at it — not to say to get a livine." " He can't carry anything now, sir/' said his wife, as the old man strove to get the bellows to warm up the large kettle of pea-soup that was on the fire. " Aye, I can't go without my crutch. My daughter goes to Billingsgate for me. I've got nobody else ; and she cuts up the eels. If it wam't for her I must give it up altogether, and go into the workhouse out- right I couldn't fetch 'em. I ought to have been out to-night by rights till ten, if I'd had anythmg to have sold. My wife can't do much; she's troubled with the rheumatics in her head and limbs." " Yes," said the old body, with a sigh, " I'm never well, and never shall be again, I know." *' Would you accept on a drop of soup, sir?" asked the man; "you're venr welcome, I can assure you. You'll find It very good, sir." I told him I had just dined, and the poor old fellow pro- ceeded with his tale. "Last week I earned clear about 8<., and that's to keep six on us. I didn't pay no rent last week nor yet this, and I don't know when I shall aeain, if things goes on in this way. The week before there was a fast-day, and I didn't earn above 6s. that week, if I did that My boy can't go to school. He's got no shoes nor nothing to go in. The girls go to the ragged- school, but we can't send them of a Sunday nowhere." " Other people can go," said one of the young girls nestling round the fire, and with a piece of sacking over her shoulders for a shawl — " them as has got things to go in ; but motlier don't like to let us go as we are." " She slips her mother's shoes on when she goes out It would take 1/. to start me weU. With that I could go to market, and buy my draught of eels a shilling cheaper, and I coidd afibrd to cut my pieces a little bigger ; and people where they gets used well comes again — don't you see? I could have sold more eels if I'd had 'em to-day, and soup too. Why, there's four hours of about the best time to-night that I'm losing Aw 'cause I've nothing to sell The man in the market can give more than we can. He gives what is called the lumping ha'p'orth — tliat is, seven or eight pieces; ah, that I daresay he does; indeed, some of the boys has told me he gives as many as eight pieces. And then the more eels you biles up, you see, the richer the liquor is, and in our little tin- pot way it's like biling up a gpreat jint of meat in a hocean of water. In course we can't compete agin the man in the market, and so we're being ruined entirely. The bojrs very often comes and asks me if I've got a farden's- worth of heads. The woman at Broadway, they tells me, sells 'em at four a farden and a drop of liquor, but we chucks 'em away, there's nothing to eat on them ; the boys though will eat anything." In the hot- eel trade are now 140 vendors, each selling 6 lb. of eels daily at their stands ; 60 sell 40 lb. daily ; and 100 are itinerant, selling 6 lb. nightly at the public-houses. The first mentioned take 2s. daily ; the second 16i. ; and the third Is. Sd. This gives a street] ex- penditure in the trade in hot eels of 19,448/. for the year. To start in this business a capital is required after this rate :— sUU Os. ; basket Is. ; eel-ket- tle Ss. 6d. ; jar 6d. ; ladle 4cfore particularised. The whelks are sold in saucers, generally small and white, and of common ware, and are contained in jars, ready to be " shelled" into any saucer that may have been emptied. Sometimes a small pyramid of shells, surmounted by a candle protected bv a shade, attracts the regard of the passer-by. The man doing the best business in London was to be found, before tlie removals of which I have spoken, in Lambeth-walk, but he has now no fixed locality. His profits, I am informed, were regularly 3/. a week ; but out of this he had to pay for the assistance of two or some- times three persons, in washing his whelks, boiling them, &c ; besides that, his wife was aa busy as himself. To the quality and cleanliness of his whelks he was very attentive, and would sell no mediocre article if better could be bought " He deserved all he earned, sir," said another slreet-dealer to me; "why, in Old-street now they'll have the old original saucers, miserable things, such as they had fifty years back; but the man we're talking of, about two years ago, brought in very pretty plates, quite enterprising things, and they answered welL His example's spreading, but it's slowly." The whelks are eaten with vinegar and pepper. For sale in the public-houses, the whelks are most frequently carried in jars, and transferred in a saucer to the consumer. " There's often a good sale," said a man familiar with the busi- ness, " when a public room's filled. People drinking there always want to eat They buy whelks, not to fill tliemselves, but for a relish. A man that's used to the trade will often get off inferior sorts to the lushingtons ; he'll have tliem to rights. Whelks is all the same, good, bad, or middling, when a man's drinking, if they're well seasoned with pepper and vinegar. Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, 165 Oh yes ; any whelk-man will take in a drunken fellow, and he will do it all the same, if he's made up his mind to, get dnmk hisself that very night" The trade is carried on hy the regular costers, hut of the present numher of whelk-sellers, ahout twenty have heen mechanics or servants. The whelk-trade is an evening trade, commencing generally ahout six, simimer and winter, or an hour earlier in winter. The capital required to start in the whelk- husiness is : stall, 2s, 6d, ; saucers, vinegar-bottle, jar, pepper-castor, and small watering- pan (used only in dusty weather), 2s, 6d. ; a pair of stilts (supports for the stall), Is, 6d. ; stock-money, 5s. ; pepper and vinegar, 6d., or I2s. in all. If the trade he commenced in a round basket, for public-house sale, 7s. or Ss. only is required, but it is a hazardous experiment for a person unpractised in street business. Of the Customers, etc., of Pickled WlIELK-SELLERS. An intelligent man gave me the following ac- count He had been connected with street- trading jQrom his youth up, and is now about thirty: " The chief customers for whelks, sir, are working people and poor people, and tliey pre- fer them to oysters ; 1 do myself, and I think they're not so much eaten because they're not fashionable like oysters. But I've sold them to first-rate public-houses, and to doctors' sliops — more than other shops, I don't know why— and to private houses. Masters have sent out their eervant-maids to me for three or four penn'ortlis for supper. I've offered the maids a whelk, but they won't eat them in the street ; I dare say they're afraid their yoimg men may be about, and might think they wasn't ladies if they eat whelks in the street Boys are the best custo- mers for * small,' but if you don't look sharp, you'll be done out of three-ha'porth of vinegar to a ha'porth of whelks. I can't make out why they like it so. They're particular enough in their way. If the whelks arc thin, as they will be sometimes, the lads will say, ' What a lot of snails you've gathered to-night!' If they're plump and fine, then they'll say, ' Fat 'uns to- night— stunners ! ' Some people eat whelks for an appetite; they give me one, and more in summer than winter. The women of the town are good customers, at least they are in the Cut and Shoreditch, for I know both. If they have five-penn'orth, when they're treated perhaps, there's always sixpence. They come on the sly sometimes, by themselves, and make what's a meal, I'm satisfied, on whelks, and they'll want credit sometimes. I've given trust to a woman of that sort as far as 2s. 6t!. I've lost very little by them; I don't know how much altogether. I keep no account, but carry any credit in my head. Those women's good pay, take it altogether, for they know how hard it is to get a crust, and have a feeling for a poor man, if they haven't for a rich one— that's my opinion, sir. Costennongers in a good time are capital customers; they'll buy five or six penn'orths at a timte. The dust's a great in- jury to the trade in summer time ; it dries the whelks up, and they look old. I wish whelks were cheaper at Billingsgate, and I could do more business ; and I could do more if I could sell a few minutes after twelve on a Saturday night, when people must leave the public-house. I have sold three wash of a Saturday night, and cleared 15^. on them. I one week made 3/., but I had a few stewe4 eels to help, — that is, I cleared 2/., and had a pound's worth over on the Saturday night, and sent them to be sold — and they were sold— at Battersea on the Sun- day; I never went there myself. I've had twenty people round my stall at one time on a Saturday. Perhaps my earnings on that (and other odd tilings) may come to 1/. a week, or hardly so much, the year round. I can't say exactly. The shells are no use. Boys have asked me for them * to make sea-shells of,' they say — to hold them to their ears when they're big, and there's a sound like the sea rolling. Gentlemen have sometimes told me to keep a dozen dozen or twenty dozen, for borders to a garden. I make no charge for them — ^just what a gentleman may please to give. The information given shows an outlay of 5,250/. yearly for street whelks, and as the return I have cited shows the money spent in whelks at Billingsgate to be 2,500/., the number of whelks being 4,950,000, the account is correct, as the coster's usual " half-profits" make up the sum expended. Op the Street Sellers, and of the Preparation of Fried Fish. Among the cooked food which has for many years formed a portion of the street trade is fried fish. The sellers are about 350, as a maximum and 250 as a minimum, 300 being an average number. The reason of the variation in number is, that on a Saturday night, and occasionally on other nights, especially on Mon- days, stall-keepers sell fried fish, and not as an ordinary article of their trade. Some men, too, resort to the trade for a time, when they cannot be employed in any way more profitable or suitable to them. The dealers in this article are, for the most part, old men and boys, though there may be 30 or 40 women who sell it, but only 3 or 4 girls, and they are the daughters of the men in the business as the women are the wives. Among the fried-fish sellers there are not half a dozen Irish people, although fish is so especial a part of the diet of the poor Irish. The men in the calling have been, as regards the great majority, mechanics or servants; none, I was told, had been fishmongers, or their assistants. The fisli fried by street dealers is known as "plaice dabs" and "sole dabs," which are merely plaice and soles, **dab" being a corn- Digitized by Google 166 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. mon word for any flat fish. The fish which supplies upwards of one half the quantity fried for the streets is plaice ; the other fishes used are soles, haddocks, whitings, flounders, and herrings, but very sparingly indeed as regards herrings. Soles are used in as large a quantity as [the other kinds mentioned altogether. On my inquiry as to the precise quantity of each description fried, the answer from the traders was uniform : " I can't say, sir. I buy what- ever's cheapest*' The fish is bought at Bil- lingsgate, but some of the street dealers obtain another and even a cheaper commodity than at that great mart This supply is known in the trade as " friers," and consists of the overplus of a fishmonger's stock, of what he has not sold ovemiffht, and does not care to ofier for sale on the following morning, and therefore vends it to the costemiongers, whose customers are chiefly among the poor. The friers are sometimes half, and sometimes more than half, of the wholesale price in Billingsgate. Many of the friers are good, but some, I was told, " in any thing like mugg^ or close weather were very queer fish, very queer indeed," and they are consequently fried with a most liberal allowance of oil, " which will conceal anything." The fish to be fried is first washed and gut- ted ; the fins, head, and tail are then cut off*, and the trunk is dipped in fiour and water, so that in frying, oil being always used, the skin will not be scorched by the, perhaps, too violent action of the fire, but merely browned. Pale rape oil is generally used. The sellers, how- ever, are often twitted with using lamp oil, even when it is dearer than that devoted to the pur- pose. The fish is cooked in ordinary frying- pans. One tradesman in Cripplegate, formerly a costermonger, has on his premises a commo- dious oven which he had built for the frying, or rather baking, of fish. He supplies the small shopkeepers who deal in the article (although some prepare it themselves), and sells his fish retail also, but the street-sellers buy littie of him, as they are nearly all " their own cooks." Some of the ** illegitimates," however, lay in their stock by purchase of the tradesman in question. The fish is cut into portions before it is fried, and the frying occupies about ten minutes. The quantity prepared together is from six to twenty portions, according to the size of the pans; four dozen portions, or *' pieces," as the street people call them, re- quire a quart of oil. The fried fish-sellers live in some out of the way alley, and not unfrequently in garrets ; for among even the poorest class there are great objections to their being fellow-lodgers, on account of the odour from the frying. Even when the fish is fresh (as it most fr^uently is), and the oil pure, the odour is rank. In one place I visited, which was, moreover, admirable for cleanliness, it was very rank. The cooks, however, whether husbands or Mrives — for the women often attend to the pan — when they hear of this disagreeable rankness, answer that it may be so, many people say so ; but for their parts they cannot smell it at all. The gar- ments of the fned-fish sellers are more strongly impregnated with the smell of fish than were those of any " wet " or other fish-sellers whom I met with. Their residences are in some of the labyrinths of courts and alleys that run from Gray's-inn-lane to Leather-lane, and similar places between Fetter and Chancery- lanes. They are to be found, too, in the courts running from Cow-cross, Smithfleld ; and from Tummill-street and Ray-street, Clerkenwell ; also, in the alleys about Bishopsgate- street and the Kingsland-road, and some in the half- ruinous buildings near the Southwark and Borough-roads. None, or very few, of those who are tlieir own cooks, reside at a greater distance than three miles from Billingsgate. A gin-drinking neighbourhood, one coster said, suits best, '*for people hasn't their smell so correct there." The sale is both on rounds and at stalls, the itinerants being twice as numerous as the station- ary. The round is usually fh)m public-house to public- house, in populous neighbourhoods. The itinerants generally confine themselves to the trade in fried fish, but the stall-keepers always sell other articles, generally fish of some kind, along with it The sale in the public- houses is the g^atest At the neighbouring races and fairs there is a great sale of fried fbh. At last Epsom races, I was told, there were at least fifty purveyors of that dainty from London, half of them per- haps being costermongers, who speculated in it merely for the occasion, preparing it themselves. Three men joined in one speculation, expending 8/. in fish, and did well, selling at the usual profit of cent per cent, but with the drawback of considerable expenses. Their customers at the races and fairs are the boys who hold horses or brush clothes, or who sell oranges or nuts, or push at roundabouts, and the costers who are there on busuiess. At Epsom races there was plenty of bread, I was informed, to be picked up on the ground ; it had been flung from the carriages after luncheon, and this, with a piece of flsh, supplied a meal or *' a relish" to hun- dreds. In the public-houses, a slice of bread, 16 or 32 being cut from a quartern loaf— as they are whole or half slices — is sold or offered with the fish for a penny. The cry of the seller is, " fish and bread, a penny." Sometimes for an extra- sized piece, with bread, 2d, is obtained, but very seldom, and sometimes two pieces are given for l^d. At the stalls bread is rarely sold with the edible in question. For the itinerant trade, a neatly painted wooden tray, slung by a leathern strap firom the neck, is used : the tray is papered over gene- rally with clean newspapers, and on tlie paper is spread the shapeless brown lumps of fish. Parsley is often strewn over them, and a salt- box is placed at the discretion of the customer. The trays contain from two to five dozen pieces. Digitized by Google c THE BAK£D TOTATO MAN. ** Baked 'Uturt ! All 'ot, aU 'ot I " [From a Dmguerrtotppt ^ Bxabo.] Digitized by Google Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, 169 I undflrstand that no one has a trade greatly in advance of his fellows. The whole body com- plain of their earnings being far less than was the case four or five years back. The itinerant fried fish-sellers, when pursuing their avocation, wear generally a jacket of cloth or fUstian buttoned round them, but the rest of their attire is hidden by the white sleeves and apron some wear, or by the black calico sleeves and dark woollen aprons worn by others. The capital required to start properly in the business is :— frying-pan 2s. (second-hand 9d.) ; tray 2s. Gd. (second-hand 8rf.); salt -box 6d. (second-hand Id.); and stock -money 5s. — in all lOs. A man has gone into the trade, how- ever, with ls.f which he expended in fish and oil, borrowed a firying-pan, borrowed an old tea< board, and so started on his venture. Of the Experience of a Fried Fish- seller, AND OF THE CLASS OP CUSTOMERS. The man who gave me the following informa- tion was well-looking, and might be about 4d or 50. He was poorly dressed, but hb old brown surtout fitted him close and well, was jauntily buttoned up to his black satin stock, worn, but of good quality ; and, altogether, he had what is understood among a class as " a betierly appear- ance about him.' * His statement, as well as those of the other vendors of provisions, is curious in its details of public-house vagaries . — " I've been in the trade," he said, " seventeen years. Before that, I was a gentleman's ser- vant, and I married a servant-maid, and we had a family, and, on that account, couldn't, either of us, get a situation, though we'd good charac- ters. I was out of employ for seven or eight months, and things was beginning to go to the pawn for a living ; but at last, when I gave up any hope of getting into a gentleman's service, I raised lOf., and determined to try something else. I was persuaded, by a friend who kept a beer-shop, to sell oysters at his door. I took his advice, and went to Billingsgate for the first time in my life, and bought a peck of oysters for 2s. 6d. I was dressed respectable then — nothing like the mess and dirt I'm in now'* [I may observe, that there was no dirt about him] ; " and so the salesman laid it on, but I gave him all he asked. I know a deal better now. I'd never been used to open oysters, and I couldn't do it I cut my fingers with the knife slipping all over them, and had to hire a man to open jfor me, or the blood from my cut fingers would have run upon the oysters. For all that, I cleared 2s. 6d. on that peck, and I soon got up to the trade, and did well ; till, in two or three months, the season got over, and I was advised, by the same friend, to try fried fish. That suited me. I've lived in good families, where there was first-rate men-cooks, and I know what good cooking means. I bought a dozen plaice; I forget what I gave for them, but they were dearer then than now. For all that, I took be- tween Us. and 12«. the first night— it was Satur- day—that I started ; and I stuck to it, and took frimi 7s. to 10#. every night, with more, of course, on Saturday, and it was half of it profit then. I cleared a good mechanic's earnings at that time — 30s. a week and more. Soon auer, I was told that, if agreeable, my wife could have a stall with fried fish, opposite a wine-vaults just opened, and she made nearly half as much as I did on my rounds. I served the public-houses, and soon got known. With some landlords I had the privilege of tlie parlour, and tap-room, and bar, when other tradesmen have been kept out The landlords will say to me still : * You can go in. Fishy.' Somehow, I got the name of * Fishy ' then, and I've kept it ever since. There was hospitality in those days. I've gone into a room in a public-house, xised by mechanics, and one of them has said : * I'll stand fish round, gentlemen ;' and I've supplied fifteen penn'orths. Perhaps he was a stranger, such a sort of cus- tomer, that wanted to be agreeable. Now, it's more likely I hear : ' Jack, lend us a penny to buy a bit of fried ;' and tlien Jack says : * You be d— d! here, lass, let's have another pint' The insults and difficulties I've had in the pub- lic-liouse trade is dreadfrxl. I once sold I6d. worth to three rough-looking fellows I'd never seen before, and they seemed hearty, and asked me to drin^ with them, so I took a pull ; but they wouldn't pay me when I asked, and I waited a goodish bit before 1 did ask. I thought, at first, it was their fun, but I waited from four to seven, and I found it was no fun. I felt upset, and ran out and told the policeman, but he said it was only a debt, and he couldn't inter- fere. So I ran to the station, but the head man there said the same, and told me I should hand over the fish with one hand, and hold out the other hand for my money. So I went back to tlie public-house, and asked for my money — and there was some mechanics that knew me there then — but I got nothing but * you's ! ' and one of 'em used most dreadful language. At last, one of the mechanics said : ' Muzzle him. Fishy, if he won't pay.' He was far bigger than me, him that was one in debt ; but my spirit was up, and I let go at him and gave him a bloody nose, and the next hit I knocked him backwards, I'm sure I don't know how, on to a table; but I fell on him, and he clutched me by the coat- collar — I was respectable dressed then — and half smothered me. He tore the back of my coat, too, and I went home like Jim Crow. The pot- man and the others parted us, and they made the man give me Is., and the waiter paid me the other 4 bing my face with my apron, and could just tell it came away black.' I let myself in with my latch, and my wife was in bed, and I told her to get up and look at my face and get some water, and she thought I was joking, as she was half asleep ; but when she got up and got a light, and a glass, she screamed, and said I looked such a smny image ; and so I did, as well as I could see, for it was black lead— such as they use for grates— that was flung on me. I washed it off, but it wasn't easy, and my face was sore days after. I had a respectable coat on then, too, which was greatly spoiled, and no remedy at all. I don't know who cQd it to me. I heard some one say: * You're served out beautifdl.' Its men that calls tliemselves gentlemen that does such things. I know the style of them then- it was eight or ten years ago ; they'd heard of Lord , and his goings on. That way it's better now, but worse, far, in the way of getting a living. I dare say, if I had dressed in rough corderovs, I shouldn't have been larked at so much, because they might have thought I was a regular coster, and a fighter ; but I don't like that sort of thing — I like to be decent and re- spectable, if I can. "I've been in the 'fried* trade ever since, except about 'three months that I tried the sand- wiches. I didn't do so well in them, but it was a fjsr easier trade ; no carrying heavy weights all the way from Billingsgate : but I went back to the fried. Why now, sir, a good week with me — and I've only myself in the trade now" [he was a widower] — '* is to earn ]2i., a poor week is 9«.; and there's as many of one as of the other. I'm known to sell the best of fish, and to cook it in the best style. I think half of us, take it round and round for a year, may earn as much as I do, and the other half about half as much. I think sa I might have saved money, but for a family. I've only one at home with me now, and he really is a good lad. My cus- tomers are public-house people that want a relish or a sort of supper with their beer, not so much to drinkers. I sell to tradesmen, too ; ^d. worth for tea or supper. Some of them send to my place, for I'm known. The Great Exhibi- tion can't be any difference to me. I've a regu- lar round. I used to sell a good deal to women of the town, but I don't now. They haven't the money, I believe. Where I took 10#. of them, eight or ten years ago, I now take only 6d, They may go for other sorts of relishes now ; I can't say. The worst of my trade is, Uiat people must have as big penn'orths when fish is dear as when its cheap. I never sold a piece of fish to an Italian boy in my life, though they're Catholics. Indeed, I never saw an ItaUan boy spend a half- penny in the streets on anything." A working-man told me that he often bought fried fish, and accounted it a good to men Uke him8el£ He was fond of fried fish to his sup- per ; he couldn't buy half so cheap as the street- sellers, perhaps not a quarter ; and, if he could, it would cost him Id, for dripping to fry the fish in, and he got it ready, and well fried, and gene- rally good, for Id. Subsequoit inquiries satisfied me that my in- fonnant was correct as to his calculations of his fellows' earnings, jud^g firom his own. The price of plaice at Billmesgate is from ^d, to 2d, each, according to size (the fried fish purveyors never calculate by the weight). Id. being a fair average. A plaice costing Id. will now be fried into four pieces, each Id. ; but the addition of bread, cost of oil, &c., reduces the "fried" peoples' profits to rather less than cent per cent Soles and the other fish are, moreover, SO per cent dearer than plaice. As 150 sellers make as much weekly as my informant, and the other 150 half that amount, we have an average yearly earning of 27/. 6s. in one case, and of 18/. ISs. in the other. Takuig only 20/. a year as a medium earning, and adding 90 per cent, for profit, the outlay on the fried fish supplied by London street-sellers is 11,400/. Of the Preparation and Quantity of Sheep's Trotters, and of the Street- sellers. The sale of sheep's trotters, as a regular street- trade, is confined to London, Liverpool, New- castle-on-Tyne, and a few more of our greater towns. The "trotter," as it is commonly called, is the boiled foot of the sheep. None of my readers can have formed any commensurate notion of the extent of the sale in London, and to some readers the very existence of such a comestible may be imknown. The great supply now required is readily attained. The whole- sale trade is now in the hands of one fellmonger- ing firm, though until within these twenty months or so there were two, and the feet are cut off the sheep-skins by the salesmen in the skin-market, in Bermondsey, and conveyed to the fellmonger's premises ^ in carts and in trucks. Sheep's trotters, one of my informants could remember, were sold in the streets fifhr years ago, but in such small quantities that it could hardly be called a trade. Instead of beine pre- pared wholesale as at present, and then sold out to the retailers, the trotters were then prepared by the individual retailers, or by small traders in tripe and cow-heeL Twenty -five years ago nearly all the sheep's trotters were " lined and prepared," when the skin came into the hands of the fellmonger, for the glue and sice makers. Twenty years ago only about one- Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, 171 twentieth of the trotters now prepared for eating were devoted to the same purpose ; and it was not until ahout fifteen years back that the trade began to reach its present magnitude ; and for the last twelve years it has been about station- ary, but there were never more sold than last year. From fifteen toHwenty years ago glue and size, owing principally to improved modes of manu- facture, became cheaper, so that it paid the fell- monger better to dispose of the trotters as an article "cooked" for the poor, than to the glue- boiler. The process of cookery is carried on rapidly at the fellmouger*s in question. The feet are first scalded for about half an hour. After that from ten to fifteen boys are employed in scoop- 'ing out the hoofs, which are sold for manure or to manufacturers of Prussian blue, which is ex- tensively used by painters. Women are then employed, forty being an average number, " to scrape the hair offj'* — for hair it is called — quickly, but softly, so that the skin should not be injured, and after that the trotters are boiled for about four hours, and they are theu ready for market The proprietor of this establishment, afler he had obligingly given me the information I required, invited me to walk round his premises unaccompanied, and observe how the business was conducted. The premises are extensive, and are situated, as are nearly all branches of the great trade connected with hides and skins, in Bermondsey. The trotter business is kept dis- tinct from the general feUmongering. Within a long shed are fi^ coppers, each containing, on an average, 250 "sets," a set being tlie com- plement of the sheep's feet, four. Two of these coppers, on my visit, were devoted to the scald- ing, and three to the boiling of the trotters. They looked like what one might imagine to be witches' big caldrons; seething, hissing, boil- ing, and throwing forth a steam not peculiarly grateful to the nostrils of the uninitiated. Thus Uiere are, weekly, "cooking" in one form or other, the feet of 20,000 sheep for the consump- tion of the poorer classes, or as a relish for those whose stomachs crave after edibles of this de- scription. At one extremity of this shed are the boys, who work in a place open at the side, but the flues and fires make all parts sufficiently warm. The women have a place to themselves on the opposite side of the yard. Tlie room where they work has forms running along its sides, and each woman has a sort of bench in front of her seat, on which she scrapes the trotters. One of the best of these workwomen can scrape 150 sets, or 600 feet in a day, but the average of the work is 500 sets a week, including women and girls. I saw no girls but what seemed above seventeen or eighteen, and none of the women were old. They were exceed- ingly merry, laughing and chatting, and appear- ing to consider that a listener was not of primary consequence, as they talked pretty much alto- gether. I saw none but what were decently dressed, some were good-looking, and none seemed sickly. In this establishment are prepared, weekly, 20,000 sets, or 80,000 feet ; a yearly average of 4,160,000 trotters, or the feet of 1,040,000 sheep. Of this quantity the sfreet-folk buy seven- eighths; 8,640,000 trotters yearly, or 70,000 weekly. The number of sheep trotter-sellers may be taken at 300, which gives an average of nearly sixty sets a week per individual. The wholesale price, at the " trotter yard," is five a penny, which gives an outlay by the street- sellers of 3,031/. lU. yearly. But this is not the whole of the trade. Lamb's trotters are also prepared, but only to one- twentieth of the quantity of sheep's tiotters, and that for only three months of the year. These are all sold to the street- sellers. The lamb's foot is usually left appended to the leg and shoulder of lamb. It is weighed with the joint, but the butcher's man or boy will say to the purchaser: "Do you want the foot?" As the answer is usually in the negative, it is at once cut off and forms a " perquisite." There are some half dozen men, journeymen butchers not fully employed, who collect these feet, pre- pare and sell them to the street-people, but as the lamb's feet are very seldom as fresh as those of the sheep carried direct from the skin market to — so to speak — the great trotter kitchen, the demand for "lamb's" falls off yearly. Last year the sale may be taken at about 14,000 sets, selling, wholesale, at about 46/., the same price as the sheep. The sellers of trotters, who are stationary at publichouse and theatre doors, and at street comers, and itinerant, but itinerant chiefly from one public house to another are a wretchedly poor class. Three fourths of them are elderly women and children, the great majority being Irish people, and there are more boys than girls in the trade. The capital required to start in the business is very small. A hand basket of the larger size costs \s. 9J., but smaller or second-hand only 1#., and the white cotton cloth on which the trotters are displayed costs 4d many years. I don't know how long, and don't like to think about it It's a shucking bad trade, and such insults as we have to put up with. I serve some public- houses, and I stand sometimes at a playhouse-door. I make 3s. or 3s. 6(i. a week, and in a very good week 4s., but, then, I sometimes make only 2s. I'm infirm now, God help me! and I can do nothing else. Another old woman and me has a room between us, at Is. 4//. a week. Mother 's the best name I 'm called in a public-house, and it ain't a respectable name. * Here, mother, give us one of your b— trotters,' is often said to me. One customer sometimes says: 'The stufi'U choke me, but that's as good as the Union.' He aui't a bad man, though. He sometimes treats me. He'll bait my trotters, but that's his lark- ing way, and then he'll say : ' A pennorth o' gin, 'II make your old body spin.' It's his own poetry, he says. I 'don't know what he is, but he's often drunk, poor fellow. Women's far worse to please than men. I've known a woman buv a trotter, put her teeth into it, and then say it wasn't good, and return it It wasn't paid for when she did so, and be- Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. 173 cause I grumbled, I was abused by her, as if Pd been a Turk. The landlord interfered, and he said, said he, 'I'll not have this poor woman insulted; she's here for the convenience of them as requires trotters, and she's a well-con- ducted woman, and I'll not have her insulted,' he says, says he, lofly and like a gentleman, sir. *Why, who's insulting the old b— h?' says the woman, says she. * Why, you are,' says the landlord, says he, ' and you ought to pay her for her trotter, or how is she to live ? * * What the b— h— 11 do I care how she lives,' says the woman, ' its nothing to me, and I won't pay her.' * Then I will,' says the land- lord, says he, * here's 6rf.,' and he wouldn't take the change. After that I soon sold all my trotters, and some gave mo double price, when the landlord showed himself such a gentleman, and I went out and bought nine trotters more, another woman's stock, that she was dreading she couldn't sell, and I got through them in no time. It was the best trotter night I ever had. She wasn't a woman of the town as used me so. I, have had worse sauce from modest women, as they called themselves, than from the women of the town, for plenty of them knows what r>verty is, and is civiler, poor things — yes, m sure of that, though it's a shocking life — O, shocking ! I never go to the playhouse-door but on a fine night. Young, men treats their sweethearts to a trotter, for a relish, witli a drop of beer between the acts. Wet nights is the best for public-houses. * They're not salt enough,' has been said to me, oft enough, * they don't make a man thirsty.* It'll come to the workhouse with jne before long, and, perhaps, all the better. It's warm in the public-house, and that draws me to sell my trotters there sometimes. I live on fish and bread a good deal." The returns I collected show that there is expended yearly in London streets on trotters, calculating their sale, retail, at Id, each, 6,500/., but though the regular price is ^eL, some trotters arc sold at four for 1 Jrf., very few higher than Id., and some are kept until they are unsaleable, so that the amount may be estimated at 6,000/., a receipt of 7#. 6d. weekly, per individual seller, rather more than one-half of which sum is profit Of the Street Trade in Baked Potatoes. The baked potato trade, in the way it is at pre- sent carried on, has not been known more than fifteen years in the streets. Before that, pota- toes were sometimes roasted as chestnuts are now, but only on a small scale. The trade is more profitable than that in fruit, but continues for but six months of the year. The potatoes, for street-consumption, are bought of the greengrocers, at the rate of 5i. 6d. the cwt. They are usually a large- sized ** fruit," nmning about two or three to the pound. The kind generally bought is what are called the ** French Regent's." French pota- toes are greatly used now, as they are cheaper than the English. The potatoes are picked, and those of a large size, and with a rough skin, selected from the others, because they arc the mealiest A waxy potato shrivels in the baking. There are usually from 280 to 300 potatoes in the cwt ; these are cleaned by the huckster, and, when dried, taken in baskets, about a quarter cwt at a time, to the baker's, to be cooked. They are baked in large tins, and require an hour and a half to do them well. The charge for baking is dd. the cwt, the baker usually finding the tins. They are taken home from the bakehouse in a basket, with a yard and a half of green baize in which they are covered up, and so protected from the cold. The huck- ster then places them in his can, which consists of a tin with a half-lid ; it stands on four legs, and has a large handle to it, while an iron fire- pot Is suspended immediately beneath the vessel which is used for holding the potatoes. Di- rectly over the fire-pot is a boiler for hot water. This is concealed vrithin the vessel, and serves to keep the potatoes always hot Outside the vessel where the potatoes are kept is, at one end, a small compartment for butter and salt, and at the other end another compartment for fresh charcoal. Above the boiler, and beside the lid, is a small pipe for carrying off* the steam. These potato -cans are sometimes brightly nolished, sometimes painted red, and occasionally brass-mounted. Some of the handsomest are all brass, and some are highly ornamented with brass-mountings. Great pride is taken in the cans. The baked-potato man usually devotes half an hour to polishing them up, and they are mostly kept as bright as silver. The handsomest potato-can is now in Shore- ditch. It cost ten g^neas, and is of brass mounted with German silver. There are three lamps attached to it, with coloured glass, and of a style to accord with that of the machine ; each lamp cost 58. The expense of an ordinary can, tin and brass-moimted, is about 50s, They are mostly made by a tinman in the Katclifie- highway. The Uhual places for these cans to stand are the principal tnoroughfares and street- markets. It is considered by one who has been many years at the business, that there are, taking those who have regular stands and those who are travelling with their cans on their arm, at least two j^hundred individuals engaged in the trade in London. There are three at the bottom of Farringdon- street, two in Smithfield, and three in Tottenham-court- road (the two places last named are said to be the best * pitches * in all London), two in Leather-lane, one on Holbom-hill, one at King's-cross, three at the Brill, Somers-town, three in the New- cut, three in Covent-garden (this is considered to be on market-days the second-best pitch), two at the Elephant and Castle, one at West- minster-bridge, two at the top of Edgeware- road, one in St Martin* s-lane, one in Newport- market, two at the upper end of Oxford-street, one in Clare-market, two in Regent-street, one Digitized by Google 174 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. in Newgate-market, two at the Angel, Isling- ton, three at Shoreditch church, fbur ahoat Rosemary-lane, two at Whitechapel, two near Spitalfields-market, and more than douhle the ahove number wandering about London. Some of the cans have names — as the " Royal Union Jack" (engraved in a brass plate), the " Royal George," 3ie " Prince of Wales," the " Original Baked PoUtoes," and the ** Old Original Baked Potatoes." The business begins about the middle of August and continues to the latter end of April, or as soon as the potatoes get to any size, — until they are pronounced ' bad.' The season, upon an average, lasts about half the year, and depends much upon the weather. If it 'is cold and frosty, the trade is brisker than in wet weather ; indeed then little is doing. The best hours for business are from half-past ten in the morning till two in the afternoon, and from five in the evening till eleven or twelve at night. The night trade is considered the best In cold weather the potatoes are fre- quently bought to warm the hands. Indeed, an eminent divine classed them, in a public speech, among the best of modem improve- ments, it being a cheap luxury to the poor wayfarer, who was benumbed in the night by cold, and an excellent medium for diffusing warmth into the system, by being held in the gloved hand. Some buy them in the morning for lunch and some for dinner. A newsvender, who had to take a hastv meal in his shop, told mc he was "always glad to hear the baked- potato cry, as it made a dinner of what was only a snack without it" The best time at night, is about nine, when the potatoes are purchased for supper. The customers consist of all classes. Many gentlefolks buy them in the street, imd take them home for supper in their pockets ; but the working classes are the greatest purchasers. Many boys and girls lay out a halfpenny in a baked potato. Irishmen are particularly fond of them, but they are the worst customers, I am told, as they want the largest potatoes in the can. Women buy a great number of those sold. Some take them home, and some eat them in the street Three baked potatoes are as much as will satisfy the stoutest appetite. One potato dealer in Smithficld is said to sell about 2| cwt of potatoes on a market-day ; or, in other words, from 900 to 1,000 potatoes, and to take upwards of 21. One informant told me that he himself had often sold 1| cwt of a day, and taken 1/. in halfpence. I am informed, that upon an ave- rage, taking the good stands with the bad ones throughout London, there are about 1 cwt of potatoes sold by each baked-potato man — and there are 200 of these throughout the metro- polis— making the total quantity of baked potatoes consumed every day 10 tons. The money spent upon these comes to within a few shillings of 125/. (calculating 300 potatoes to the cwt., and each of those potatoes to be sold at a halfpenny). Hence, there are 60 tons of baked potatoes eaten in London streets, and 750^ spent upon them every week during the season. Saturdays and Mondays are the best days for the sale of baked potatoes in those parts of London that are not near the markets ; but in those in the vicinity of Clare, Newport, Covent-garden, Newgate, Smithfield, and other markets, the trade is briskest on the market- days. The baked-potato men are many of them broken-down tradesmen. Many are labourers who find a difficulty of obtaining employment in the winter tune; some are costermongers ; some have been artisans ; indeed, there are some of all classes among them. After the baked potato season is over, the generality of the hucksters take to selling straw- berries, raspberries, or anything in season. Some go to labouring work. One of my in- formants, who had beoi a bricklayer's labourer, said that after the season he always looked out for work among the bricklayers, and this kept him employed until the baked potato season came round again. " When I first took to it," he said, " I was very badly oS. My master had no employment for me, and my brother was ill, and so was my wife's sister, and I had no way of keeping 'em, or myself either. The labouring men are mostly out of work in the winter time, so I spoke to a friend of mine, and he told me how he managed every winter, and advised me to do the same. 1 took to it, and have stuck to it ever since. The trade was much better then. I could buy a hundred- weight of potatoes for Is. 9d. to 2i. 3<1, and there were fewer to sell them. We gene- rally use to a cwt of potatoes ^three-quarters of a pound of butter — tenpenny salt butter is what we buy — a pennyworth of salt, a pennyworth of pepper, and five pennyworth of charcoal. This, with the baking, 9^., brings the expenses to just upon 7s. 6d. per cwt, and for this our receipts will be 12«. 6d., thus leaving about 5s. per cwt profit" Hence the average profits of the trade are about 30s. a week — " and more to some," said my informant A man in Smithfield- market, I am credibly informed, clears at the least 3/. a week. On the Friday he has a fresh basket of hot potatoes brought to him from the baker's every quarter of an hour. Such is his custom that he has not even time to take money, and his wife stands by his side to do ro. Another potato-vender who shifted his can, he said, " from a public-house where the tap dined at twelve," to another half-a-mile off, where it " dined at one, and so did the par- lour," and afterwards to any place he deemed best, gave me the following account of his cus- tomers : — " Such a day as this, sir [Jan. 24], when the fog's like a cloud come down, people looks very shy at my taties, very ; they've been more sus- picious ever since tne taty rot I thought I should never have rekivered it ; never, not the rot. I sell most to mechanics— I was a grocer^s porter myself before I was a baked taty — for their dinners, and they're on for good shops Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, 175 where I serres the taps and parlours, and pays me without grumbling, like gentlemen. Gen- tlemen does grumble though, for I've sold to them at private houses when they've held the door half open as they've called me ~ aye, and ladies too — and they've said, * Is that all for 2d,V If it 'd been a peck they'd have said the same, I know. Some customers is very plea- sant with me, and says I'm a blessing. One always says he'll give me a ton of taties when his ship comes home, 'cause he can always have a hot murphy to his cold saveloy, when tin's short He's a harness-maker, and the railways has injured him. Tliere's Union-street and there's Pearl-row, and there's Market-street, now,— they're all off the Borough-road — if I go there at ten at night or so, I can sell 3«. worth, perhaps, 'cause they know me, and I have another baked taty to help there some- timeK. They're women that's not reckoned the best in the world that buys there, but they pay me. I know whv I got my name up. I had luck to have good firuit when the rot was about, and they got to know me. I only go twice or thrice a week, for it's two miles from my regu- lar places. I've trusted them sometimes. They've said to me, as modest as could be, * Do give me credit, and 'pon my word you shall be paid; there's a dear!' I am paid mostly. Little shopkeepers is fair customers, but I do best for the taps and the parlours. Perhaps I make 12i. or I5s, a week — I hardly know, for I've only myself and keep no 'count — for the season; money goes one can't tell how, and 'specially if you drinks a drop, as I do sometimes. Foggy weather drives me to it, I'm so worritted ; that is, now and then, you'll mind, sir." There are, at present, 300 vendors of hot baked potatoes getting their living in the streets of London, each of whom sell, upon an average, X cwt of potatoes daily. The average takings of each vendor is G«. a day ; and the receipts of the whole number throughout the season (which lasts from the latter end of September till March inclusive), a period of 6 months, is 14,000A A capital is required to start in thb trade as, follows : — can, 21, ; knife, Sd, ; stock-money, 8<. ; charge for baking 100 potatoes, 1«. ; charcoal, 4er, 1#. 6d. ; and a saw, 2t. ; 0^. stock-money, though credit is sometimes given. Of the Street-selleri of Hau-Sand- WICUE8. The ham-sand wich'Seller carries his sandwiches on a tray or flat basket, covered with a clean white cloth ; he also wears a white apron, and white sleeves. Ills usual stand is at the doors of the theatres. The trade was unluiown until eleven years ago, when a man who had been unsuccessful in keeping a coflTee-shop in Westminster, found it necessary to look out for some mode of living, and he hit upon the plan of vending sand- wiches, precisely in the present style, at the theatre doors. The attempt was successful ; the man soon took 10*. a night, half of which was profit He ** attended" both the great theatres, and was " doing well ;" but at five or six weeks' end, competitors appeared in the field, and in- creased rapidly, and so his sale was affected, people being regardless of his urging that he ** was the origin^ ham-sandwich." The capital required to start in the trade was small ; a .few pounds of ham, a proportion of loaves, and a little mustard was all that was required, and for this 10*. was ample. That sum, however, could not be commanded by mtny who were anxious to deal in sandwiches; and the man who commenced the trade supplied tliem at 6d. a dozen, the charge to the public beuig Id, a-piece. Some of the men, however, murmured, because they thought that what they thus bought were not equal to those the wholesale sandwich-man oflfered for sale himaelf ; and his wholesale trade fell off, until now, I am told, he has only two customers among street*tellers. Ham sandwiches are made from any part of the bacon which may be sufi&ciently lean, such as *' the gammon," which now costs 4d. and 6d. the pound. It is sometimes, but very rarely, picked up at S^eL When the trade was first started, 7d, a pound was paid for the ham, but the sandwiches are now much larger. To make tlu-ee dozen a pound of meat is required, and four quartern loaves. I'he " ham ' ' may cost 5d,, the bread U. Sd, or 1*. lOd., and the mustard Id, The proceeds for this would be 3*., but the trade is very precarious: little can be done in wet weather. If unsold, the sandwiches spoil, for the bread gets dry, and the ham loses its fresh colour; so that those who depend upon this trade are wretchedly poor. A first-rate week is to clear lOf.; a good week is put at 7s.; and a bad week at Ss. 6d, On some nights they do not sell a dozen sandwiches. There are half- penny sandwiches, but these are only half the size of those at a penny. The persons carrying on this trade have been, for the most part, in some kind of service- errand-boys, pot-boys, foot-boys (or pages), or lads engaged about inns. Some few have been mechanics. Their average weekly earnings hardly exceed 5«., but some "get odd jobs" at other things. " There are now, sir, at the theatres this (the Strand) side the water, and at Ashley's, the Surrey, and the Vic, two dozen and nine sand- wiches." So said one of the trade, who counted up his brethren for me. This man calculated also that at the Standard, the saloons, the con- cert-rooms, and at Limehouse, Mile-end, Beth- nal-green-road, and elsewhere, tliere might be more than as many again as those *' working" the theatres— or 70 in alL They are nearly all men, and no boys or girls are now in tlie trade. The number of these people, when the large theatres were open with the others, was about double what it is now. The information collected shows that the expenditure in ham -sandwiches, supplied by street-sellers, is 1,820/. yearly, and a consump- tion of 436,800 sandwiches. To start in the ham-sandwich street-trade requires 2f. for a basket, 2«. for kettle to boil ham in, 6d. for knife and fork, 2d. for mustard- pot and spoon, 7d. for | cwt of coals, 5$. for ham, If. 3d. for bread, 4m fountains, and from bottles. The fountain sale is not above a tenth of the whole. All is sold in Id, and Id, glasses, except the nectar, which is never less than Id, The customers are the same as those who buy ginger-beer ; but one ** lemon- ader " with whom I conversed, seemed inclined to insist that they were a " more respectabler class." Boys are good customers — better, per- haps, than for the beer,— as " the colour and the fine names attracts them." The ** cooling drink" season, like that of the ginger-beer, is determined by the weather, and last summer it was only four months. It was computed for me that there were 200 persons, chiefly men, selling solely lemonade, &c., and an additional 300 uniting the sale with that of gin- fer-beer. One man, whose statement was con- fined by others, told me that on fine days he took 3s. 6d., out of which he cleared 2s, to 2s. 6d. ; and he concluded that his brother tradesmen cleared as much every fine day, and so, allowing for wet weather and diminished receipts, made 10*. a week. The receipts, then, for this street luxury — a receipt of 17 s. 6d, affording a profit of lOs. — show a street expenditure in such a sum- mer as the last, of 2,800/., by those who do not unite ginger-beer with the trade. Calculating that those who do unite ginger beer with it sell only one- half as much as the others, we find a toul outlay of 4,900/. One of the best trades h in the hands of a man who "works" Smith- field, and on the market days clears generally from 6s. to 9s. The stalls, &c., are of the same character as those of the ginger-beer sellers. The capital required to start is:— stone barrel, with brass top, 5s. 6d. ; stond and trestle, 6s. ; 6 tumbler glasses, 2s. 3d,i 2 towels, 6d. ; stock money, 2s, 6d. ; jar, 2s. ; 12 bottles (when used), 3*. 6d. j in all, about a guinea. In showing &e money expended in the gin- ger-beer trade it must be borne in mind that a large portion of the profits accrues to persons who cannot be properly classed with the regular street-traders. Such is the proprietor of the g^at fountain of which I have spoken, who is to be classed as a speculative man, ready to embark capital in any way — whether connected with street-traffic or not — ^likely to be remu- nerative. The other and large participants ill the profits are the wholesale ginger- beer manufacturers, who are also the letters- out of fountains, one of them having generally nine let out at a time. For a street trader to sell three gross of ginger-beer in bottle is now accounted a good week, and for that the receipU Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. 189 will be Z6s., with a profit in the penny bottle trade, to the seller, if he buy of a manufacturer, of 12«. ; if he be his own brewer — reckoning a fair compensation for labour, and for money invested in utensils, and in bottles, &c, of 20«. An ordinary week's sale is two gross, costing the public 24«., with the same proportion of profit in the same trade to the seller. In a b€ui week, or "in a small way to help out other things,*' not more than one gross is sold. The fountain trade is the most profitable to the proprietors, whether they send out their machines on their own account, or let them out on hire ; but perhaps there are only an eighth of the niunber not let out on hire. Calculating that a fountain be let out for three successive seasons of twenty weeks each, at only 4<. the week, the gross receipts are 12/. for what on the first day of hire was worth only 7L ; so that tlie returns firom 200 machines let out for the same term, would be 2,400/., or a profit of 1,000/. over and above the worth of the fountain, which having been thus paid for is of course in a suc- ceeding year the means of a clear profit of 4/. I am assured that the weekly average of " a fountain's takings," when in the hands of the regular street- dealers, is 18«. The barrel traders may be taken as in the average receipt of 6t. a week. The duration of the season was, last year, only sixteen weeks. Calculating from the best data I could acquire, it appears that for this period 200 street- sellers of ginger-beer in the bottle trade of the penny class take 30«. a week each (thus allowing for the inferior receipts in bad weather) ; 800 take 20«. each, selling for the most part at |m a personal knowledge, " a pepperminter" had two little taps to his keg, which had a division in the interior. From one tap was extracted *' peppermint -water ;" from the other, " strong peppermint- water." The one was at that time 1^ a glass, the other from 2tL to id., according to the size of the glass. With the *' strong" beverage was mixed smuggled spirit, but so strongly impregnated with the odour of the mint, Uiat a passer-by could not detect the presence of the illicit compound. There are six persons selling peppermint- water in the winter, and only half that number in the summer. The trade is irregular, as some pursue it only of a night, and genendly in the street mar- kets ; others sell at Billingsgate, and places of great traffic, when the traffic is being carried on. They are stationary for awhile, but keep shifting their ground. The vendors generally ** distilled their own mint," when the sale was greater, but within these six or eight years they have pur- chased it at a distUUng chemist's, and have only prepared it for sale. Water is added to the distilled liquid bought of the chemist, to in- crease the quantity ; but to enhance the heat of the draught — which is a draw to some buyers — black pepper (unground), or ginger, or, but rarely, capsicums, are steeped in the beverage. The peppermint- water is lauded by the vendors, when questioned concerning it, as an excellent stomacnic ; but nothing is said publicly of its virtues* the cry being merely, " Pep-permint water, a halfpenny a glass." The sellers will generally say that they distil the peppermint- water themselves, but this is not now commonly the case. The process, how- ever, is simple enough. The peppermint used is gathered just as it is bursting into fiower, and the leaves and buds are placed in a tub, with just water enough to cover them. This steeping continues 24 hours, and then a still is filled three-parts full, and the water is " over " drawn very slowly. The price at the chemist's is U. a quart for the common mint-water ; the street price is ^d, a glass, containing something short of the eighth of a pint What costs !«., the street-seller dis- poses of for 2«., so realising the usual cent per cent To take 2s. is now accounted " a tidy days work ;" and calculating that four *' pepper- minters" take that amount the year round, Sun- days excepted, we find that nearly 125L is spent annually m peppermint- water and 900 gallons of it consumed every year in the streets of London. The capital required is, keg, St. 6d., or jar, 2t. (for they are used indifferently); four glasses. Is. ; towel, 4rf., and stock- money, 4f. ; or, in all, about Ss. The "water "-keg, or jar, is carried by the vendor, but sometimes it is rested on a large stool carried for the purpose. A distilling apparatus, such as the street- sellers used, was worth about 10s. The vendors are of the same class of street- sellers as the ginger-beer people. Of Milk Selling in St. James's Park. The principal sale of milk from the cow is in St James's Park. The once fashionable drink known as syllabubs — the milk being drawn warm from the cow's udder, upon a portion of wine, sugar, spice, &c. — is now unknown. As the sellers of milk in the park are merely the servants of cow-keepers, and attend to the sale as a part of their business, no lengthened notice is required. The milk -sellers obtain, leave from the Home Secretary, to ply their trade in the park. There are eight standis in the sunmier, and as many cows, but in the winter there are only four cows. The milk-vendors sell upon an average, in the summer, firom eighteen to twenty quarts per day ; in the winter, not more than a third of that quantity. The interrupted milking of the cows, as practised in the Park, often causes them to give less milk, than they would in the ordinary way. The chief customers are infants, and adults, and others, of a delicate constitution, who have been recommended to take new milk. On a wet day scarcely any milk can be disposed ofl Soldiers are occa- sional customers. A somewhat sour- tempered old woman, speaking as if she had been crossed in love, but experienced in this trade, gave me the following account : ** It's not at all a lively sort of life, selluig milk from the cows, though some thinks it's a gay time in the Park I I've often been dull enough, and could see nothing to interest one, sitting alongside a cow. People drink new milk for their health, and I've served a good many such. They're mostly young women, I Uiink, that's de- Digitized by Google 192 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, licate, and makes the most of it There's twenty women, and more, to one man what drinks new milk. If they was set to some good hard work, it would do them more good than new milk, or ass* 8 milk either, I think. Let them go on a milk- walk to cure them— that* s what I say. Some children come pretty regularly with their nurses to drink new milk. Some hring their own china mugs to drink it out of; nothing less was good enough for them. I've seen the nurse-girls frightened to death about the mugs. I've heard one young child say to another : * I shall tell mama that Caroline spoke to a mechanic, who came and shook hands with her.' The g^l was as red as fire, and said it was her brother. Oh, yes, there's a deal of brothers comes to look for their sisters in the Park. The great- est fools I've sold milk to is servant-gals out for the day. Some must have a day, or half a day, in the month. Their mistresses ought to keep tlieni at home, I sav, and not let them out to spend their money, and get into nobody knows what company for a holiday ; mistresses is too easy that way. It's such gals as makes fools of themselves in liking a soldier to run after them. I've seen one of them — yes, some would call her pretty, and the prettiest is the silliest and easiest tricked out of money, that's my opi- nion, anyhow — I've seen one of them, and more than one, walk with a soldier, and they've stopped a minute, and she's taken something out of her glove and given it to him. Then they've come up to me, and he's said to her, ' Majm't I treat you with a little new milk, my dear ? ' and he's changed a shilling. Why, of course, the silly fool of a gal had given him that there shilling. I thought, when Annette Myers shot the soldier, it would be a warning, but nothing's a warning to some gals. She was one of those fools. It was a good deal talked about at the stand, but I think none of us know'd her. Indeed, we don't know our customers but by sight Yes, there's now and then some oldish sentlemen — I suppose they're gentlemen, anyhow, they're idle men — lounging about the stand : but there's no nonsense there. They tell me, too, that there's not so much lounging about as there was; those that's known the trade longer than me thinks so. Them children's a great check on the nusses, and they can't be such fools as the servant-maids. I don't know how many of them I've served with milk along with soldiers : I never counted them. They're nothing to me. Very few elderly people drink new milk. It's mostly the young. I*ve been asked by strangers when the Duke of Wellington would pass to the Horse- Guards or to the House of Lords. He's pretty reg^ilar. I've had 6rf. given me— but not above once or twice a year — to tell strangers where was the best place to see him from as he passed. I don't understand about this Great Exhibition, but, no doubt, more new milk will be sold when it's opened, and that's all I cares about" Op the Street Sale of Milk. During the summer months milk is sold in Smithfield, Billin^gate, and the other markets, and on Sundays m Battersea-fields, Clapham- common, Camberwell - gp'een, Hampstead- heath, and similar places. About twenty men are engaged in this sale. They usually wear a smock frock, and have the cans and yoke used by the regular milk-sellers ; they are not itinerant The skim milk — for they sell none else— is purchased at the dairies at \\d, a quart, and even the skim milk is also further watered by the street- sellers. Their cry is "Half-penny half-pint I Milk!" The tin measure however in which the milk-and-water ia served is generally a *' slang," and contains but half of the quantity proclaimed. The pur- chasers are chiefly boys and children ; rarely men, and never costermongers, I was told, " for they reckon milk sickly." These street- sellers — who have most of them been employed in the more regular milk- trade — clear about 1«. 6n. Hie women seldom, if ever, buy pies in the streets. At the public-houses a few pies are sold, and the pieman makes a practice of "looking in" at aU the taverns on his way. Here his cus- tomers are found principally in the tap-room. " Here's all 'ot ! " the pieman cries, as he walks in; "toss or buy! up and win 'em I" This is the only way that the pies can be got rid ot " If it wasn't for tossing we shoulcb't sell one." To " toss the pieman" is a favourite pastime with costermongers' boys and all that class; some of whom aspire to the repute of being gourmands, and are critical on the quality of the comestible. If the pieman win the toss, he receives Id, without giving a pie; if he lose, he hands it over for nothing. The pieman himself never " tosses," but always calls head or tail to his customer. At the week's end it comes to the same thing, they say, whether they toss or not, or rather whether they win or lose the toss : " I've taken as much as 2s. 6d. at tossing, which I shouldn't have had if I had'nt done so. Very few people buy without tossing, and the boys in particular. Gentlemen * out on the spree' at the late public-houses will frequently toss when they don't want the pies, and wh^ they win they will amuse themselves by throwing the pies at one another, or at me. Sometimes I have taken as much as half-a- crown, and the people of whom I had the money has never eaten a pie. The boys has the greatest love of gambling, and they seldom, if ever, buys without tossmg." One of the reasons why the street boys delight in tossing, is, that they can often obtain a pie by sudi means when they have only a halfpenny where- with to gamble. If the lad wins he gets a penny pie for his halfpenny. For street mince-meat pies the pieman usually makes 51b. of mince-meat at a time, and for this he will put in 2 doz. of apples, lib. of sugar, lib. of currants, 21b. of " critlings " (critlmgs beinff the refuse left after boiling down the lard^ a good bit of spice to give ue critlings a flavour, and plenty of treacle to make the mince-meat look rich. The "gravy" which used to be g^ven with the meat-pies was poured out of an oil-can, and consisted of a little salt and water browned. A hole was made with the little finger in the top of the meat pie, and the " gravy" poured in until the crust rose. With this gravy a per- son in the line assured me that he has known pies four days old to go off very freely, and be pronounced excellent The street piemen are mostly bakers, who are unable to obtain em- ployment at their trade. " I myself," said one, " was a bread and Wscuit baker. I have been at the pie business now about two years and a Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. 197 half; and I can't get a living at it Last week my earnings were not more than Is. all the week through, and I was out till three in the morning to get that" The piemen seldom begin business till six o'clock, and some re- main out all night The best time for the sale of pies is generally from ten at night to one in the morning. Calculating that there are only fifty street piemen plying their trade in London, the year through, and that their average earnings are %t, a w«ek, we find a street expenditure ex- ceeding 8,000^, and a street consumption of pies amounting nearly to three quarters of a million yearly. To start in the penny pie business of the streets requires R for a " can," 2s. 6d, for a "tum-halfpennv" board to gamble with, I2s. for a gross of tm pie-dishes, StL for an apron, and about 6s. 6d, for stock money — allowing Is. for flour, Is. 3d. for meat, 2d. for apples, 4lttm dotigh ftte the fltreet- sellers #hO lite by vending othet articled* and resort ttt plum dough, as well Ah to other things, " as a help." This doUtth is sold out of baskets in which it is kept hot by being covered with cloths, sometimes two and ftvert three, thick ; and the smoke isstiiiig out Of the basket, and the cry of the stfeet-seller, " Mot plum duff, hot plum," invite custotn. A qilartetn of flour, 5d. ; I lb. Valentia raisins, 2ef. ; dripping and suet in equal proportions, 2^d. ; treacle, \tL j and all- spice, irf.-«-in all lOld. ; supply a roly-poljr of twenty pehnyworths. The treacle, however, is only introduced ** to make the dough look rich dnd spicy,'* and must be Used sparingly. The plum dough is sold in sUees at Id. or Id. each, and the purchasers ate almost exclu- sively boys and girls — boys bfeing at least three- fourths of the revellers in thlS street luxury. I have ascertftined — as far h» the information of the street- sellets enables me to ascertain — that take the year through, six "plum duffers" take 1«. a day each, for four WiUter months, iUcludiUff Sundays, wheti the trade is likewise prosecutei Some will take from 4#. to 10*. (but rafely lOs.) on a Saturday night, and nothing oil othef nights, and some do a little in the summer. The vctidors, who are all stationary. Stand chiefly in the street- markets and reside near their stands, so tliat they can get relays of hot dough. If we calculate then 42^. a week as the takings of six persons, tot Ave months, so including the summef trade, we find that upwards 6f 200^ is expended in the street purchase of plum dough, nearly half of which is profit. The trade, however, is reckoned among those which will disappear altogether from the streets. Tiic capital required to start is: bdsket, U. 9d. ; cloths, 6d. ; pan for boiling, 2s. ; knife, 2d. I stoek-money, 2s. ; in all about, 7s. 6d, Op the SxREfet-SELLERs OF Cares, Tarts, fte. Thkse meU and boyS— for there are vety ffew women or girls in the trade — constitute a some- what numerous class. They are computed (in- cluding Jews) at 150 at the least, ail regular hands, with an addition, perhaps, of 15 Or 20, who seek t6 earn a few pence on a Sunday, but have some other, though poorlv remuhe- rative, employment on the week-oays. The cake and tart-sellers in the streets have been, for the most part, mechanics or servants ; a fifth of the body, however, have been brought up to this or to some other street- calling. The cake-men carry their goods on a tray slung round their shoulders when tliey are oflfering their delicacies for sale, and on their heads when not engaged in the eflbrt to do business. Tliey are to be found in the vicinity of all public places. Their goods are generally arranged In pairs on the trays; m bad weather they are covered with a green cloth. None of the street- vehdors make the articles they sell j indeed, the diversity of those artieles renders that impossible^ Among the regular artieles of this street-sale are *' Coventrys," or three-cornefed puffs #ith jam inside ; raspberry biscuits ; cinnamon biscuits ; " choukeys/' or a kind of miuce-meat baked in crust j Dutch butter- cakes ; Jews' butter- eakes r "bowlas," or round tarts made of sugar, apple, and btead ; "jumbles," 6r thin crisp cakes made of treacle, butter, and flout ; HHA jams, or open tarts with a little preserve in the centte. All these things are made for the street- sellers by about a doien Jew pastry-cooks, the most of whom reside about "VVhitechapel. They confine themselves to the trade, and make every descrip- tion. On a fine holiday morning their shops, or rather bake-houses, are filled with customers, as they supply the small shops ks well is the street-sellers df London. Each article is tnade to be sold at a halfpenny, and the allowance by the wholesale pastty-cook is sueh as to enable his customers to realise a profit of 4d. in 1#. ; thus he charges 4 «M)d th<^ is sufficient for 20,000 huns " (one sack of flour being used for 4,000 buns, or 500 lbs. of raw material to the same quantity of bmis). The itinerants carry their baskets slung on their arm, or borne upon the head. A flannel or green baize is placed at the bottom of the basket and brought over the buus, ailer which a white cloth is spread over the top of the bai^te, to give it a cleaQ ap- pearance. A vendor of " hq|;-cro$s buns " has to provide himself with a basket| a flannel (to k^p thp buns wanu), and a cloth, to give a pleaQ appear- ance tq his commodities. These articles, if bought for the purpose, cost — basket, 2t. ^. ; flaimel and cloth, 2s. ; stock- money, average, 5t. (largest amount 15«., sn^allest 2<. §d.); or ^bout lOs, in all. There is expended in one day, in hot-cross buns purchased in the London streets, 300/., and nearly 100,000 buna thus bought The Chelsea buns are now altogether sumsr- seded by the Batli and Alexander's pui^ " Peo- ple," the street- sellers say, *' want so much for their money." There are now but two phelsea bun-houses ; the one at Pimlico, and tho other at Chelsea. The piincipal times Chelsea bi|ns were sold in the streets was Good Friday, Easter, and Wliitsuntide ; and, with the excep- tion of Good Friday, tlie great sales were at Greenwich Fair, and then they were sold with other cakes and sweetmeats. I am inarmed that twenty years ago there was one man, with a rich musical voice, w))o sold these bui^s, about Westminster principally, all the year round ; his cry — which was one of the musical 0|»es— waSi " One a pemiy, two a peimy, hot Chels^ buns I Burning hot! smoking liotl r-r-r-reeldng hot ! hot Chelsea bunsl" Of Muffin anp Chumfet-^^^linq idf THE Streets. The street- sellers of muffins and crumpets rank anuong the old street- tradesmen. It is difficult to estimate their lumibers, but they were computed for me at 500, during the winter months. They are fbr the most part boys, young men, or pld men, and somp of them inflnn. There are a few girls in the trade, but very &w women. The ringinff of the muffin-mui's bell — at- tached to which the pleasant associations are not a few — was prohibited by a recent Ajct of Par- liament, but tlie prohibition has been as inope- rative as that wliich forbad the use of a drum to the costermonger, for the mufiiu bell still tinkles along the streets, and is rung vigorously in tlu; suburbs. The sellers of muiSns and crumpets are a mixed class, but I am told that more of them are the children of bakers, or worn-out bakers, than can bo said of any other calling. The best sale is in the suburbs. ** As £ar as I know, sir," said a mnffin-seller, ** it's the best Hackney way, and Stoke Newington, and Dalston, and Baljs Pond, and Islington; where the gents that's in banks — the steady coves of thena— goes home to their teas, and the missuses \ias muffins to welcome them ; that's my opinion." I did not hear of any street- seller who made th« muflins or crumpets he vended. Indeed, he could not make the 'small qiumtity required, so as to be remunerative. The muflins are bought of the bakers, and at prices to leave a profit of 4^. in U. Some bakers g^ve thirteen to the dozen to the street- sellers whom they know. The muffin-man carries his delioacies in a basket, wherein they a^e well swathed in flannel, to retain the heat : *^ People likes them warm, sir," an old man told me, ''to satisfy them they're fresh, and they almost always are fresh ; but it can't matter so much about tlieir being warm, as thev have to be toasted again* I only wish gooa butter was a sight cheaper, and that womd make the muffins go. Butter's half the battle." The basket and flannels cost the muffin-num 2t, 6d, or 3s. 6d. His bell stands him in from 4showed me his ap« paratus, and explained his mode of work. ni$ room, which was on the second-floor of a house in a busy thorou^hiare, had what I have fre- quently noticed in the abodes of the working classes — the decency of a turn-up bedstead. U was a large apartment, the rent being 3«. ^. a week, unfurnished. The room was cheerful with bhrds, of which there were ten or twelve. A re- markably fine thrush was hopping in a large wicker cage, while linneta and bullfinches showed their ^uick bright eyes from smaller cages on all sides. These were not kept for sale but for amusement, their owner being seldom able to leave his room. The father and mother of this man cleared, twenty years ago, although at that time sugar was 6d, or 74. the pound, firom 2i. to 3L a week by the sale of sweet-stuff I half by keeping a VtaU, &nd half by supplying smadl shops or other stall- keepers. My present informant, however, who has.-emua8 pr pennies. Calculating 200 sweet-stuff sellers, each clearing 10;. weekly, the outlay in rocks, can- dies, hard-baj^es, &c., in the street^ is 5,200/. earlyi or nearly ^wo and a )^9^f millions pf lal^enny-worths. To start in the sweet-stufi business requires a capital of 85*'> i|ipjudipg a saucppau iij which to boil sug»r, ^. ; weights and scales, 4<. ; stock-money (average), 4«. ; and barrow, 25«. If the seller be not nis owp manufacturer, tlien a tray, 1*. 9d. ; and stock-money, 1*. 6d. ; or 3|. 3^. m 9II n^lU be lu^lxiipnt Of the Stjieet-sellpbs qf CouqH P|iqp8 4KI) OF MppiPAL CONfECTIPNARY. Mvi* St»utt, in his '* Sports and Pastimes of the People of England" (1800), says of Uie ^lountebank : " It is uncertain at what period tliis vagrant dealer in physic made hi^ atpear- ance in |ilugland ; it is clear, however, that he figured away with much success in this country during the last two centuries. The mountebanks usually prefrce the vending of their medicines with pompous orations, in which they pay as little regard to truth as to pro- priety." I am informed b^ a ffentleman ob- servant of the matter, that within his knowledge, which extends to the oommencement oi the present century, no mountebank (proper) had appeared in the streets of London proclaiming the virtues of his medicines ; neither with nor without his " fooL" The last seen by my in- formant, perhaps the latest mountebank in Eng- land, was about twen^ years ago, in the viciniij of yarmoutli. He was selling '* pough drops" and infallible cures lor asthma, m^ was 4ressed in a periwig and an embroidere4 co^t, witji ruf- fles a( his wrist, a swprd \q his side, aud was a representation, in shabby genteel, of the fine gentlema;! pf thp reign of Queen Anne. The mountebank's most legitimise sucpessor in the street cajolery of hQnSaa, as regjirds his " qra- tions," is the "PaUerer," as I shall "how in my accoupt of the street tr^ i^ stationery literature. His successor in the vending of curative confectionarics and (in a small degree) of nostrums, salves, ointments, &c., are the sellers of ♦* cough drops " and " horehound candy,'' and of the corn selves, and cures for onuses, sprains, burns, ^c, &c., ^c. Thp street- traders in cough drpps and their accpmpaninipnts, hpwever, do not upw exceed six, an4 pf them only two — who are near relatives — manu|}icture their own stopk-in- trade. \ here treat pf the street trade in ** cough drops," as a branch of tlie itiperant sweet-stuff traue. The "mountebank" part of the business — that is to say, ^* the pre&cing the vending of the medicines with pompous orqitomt" I slnul reserve till its proper place — viz. the i* pattering" part of the street tn^de, of which an account will be given ij) the npxt Chapter. The two principal vendors of cough 4j^ops wheel their stalls, which are ^xed upon barrows, to different parts of town, but one principal ftand is in Holbom* On their boards are ^s- playe4 the cough cures, both in the form of " sticks" ^d " drpps," and a model of a small distillery. The pprtion inc)psing the still is painted tp rpsemble brick- work, and a tin ^ube, or worm, appears to carry the distilladop to a receiver, Qorehound, colts-foot, and some other herbs lie in a dried state pn the stall, but principally horehound, to which popular (street) opinion n^em* to attach the most and the greatest vptues. There are also on the stalls fi few bottles, tied up in the way they are dispensed from a regular practitioner, while tlie cough drops are in the form of sticks (id. each), also neatly wrappe4 in p^per. 'pio cry is both expressive and simply descriptive — " J-png life candy I Candy from herbs 1 '' Prom the most expepence4 ^ersou in this curious trade, I had the following statement. He entprtained a full assurance, as far as I could perceive, of the excellence pf his reme- dies, an4 of the high art and mystery of his calling, fn persons of his class, professing to heal, uo matter in what capacity, or what may be the disease, tliis is an important element of success. My informant, whether answering my questions or speaking of his own accord, always took time to ponsider, and sonietimes^ as will be seen, declined replying to my inquiries. Frojn him I repeived the following account; — *' The cough drop and herb trade is nothing now tp whftt it was long 4go. Thirty or forty years ago, it was a# gopd as 3/. or 4/. a week to a person, and was carried on by respectable men. I know nothing of any 'humbugs' in the re- spectable part of the trade. "VVhat's dune by those who are ignorant, and not respectable, is nothing to me. I don't know how many there were in the trade thirty or forty years ago ; but I kuow that, ten or eleven years since, I supplied seven persons who sold cou^h drops, and such like, in the streets, and now i supply only myself and another. I sell only four or five months in the year—the cold months, in course; for, in the summer, people are not so suljcct tq coughs and colda. f am tlie 'original' maker of my goods, I will cure any child of the hooping- Digitized by Google 206 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. cough, and very speedily. I defy any medical man to dispute it, and I'll do it — * no cure, no pay.' I never profess to cure asthma. Nobody hut a gravedigger can put an end to that there ; but I can relieve it It's the same with con- sumption; it may be relieved, but the grave- digger is the only man as can put a stop to it. Many have tried to do it, but they've all failed. I sell to very respectable people, and to educated people, too ; and, what's more, a good deal (of cough drops) to medical men. In course, they can analyse it, if they please. They can taste the bitter, and judge for themselves, just as they can taste wine m the Docks. Perhaps the wives of mechanics are among my best customers. They are the most numerous, but they buy only ha'porths and penn'orths. Very likely, they would think more of the remedy if they had to pay isy, for it, instead of the 1|J. The Govern- ment stamp makes many a stuff sell. Oh ! I know nothing about quackery : you must inquire at the Stamp-office, if you want to know about them kind of medicines. TheyWe the people that help to sell them. Respectable people will pay me 1«. or 2a, at a time ; and those who buy once, buy again. I'm sent to from as far off as Woolwich. I'll undertake to cure, or aflbrd relief, in coughs, colds, or wind in the chest, or forfeit U. I can dispel wind in two minutes. I sell bottles, too, for those cures (as well as the candy from herbs) : I manufacture them myselfl They're decoctions of herbs, and the way to pre- pare them is my secret I sell them at from 2d. to Is. Why, I use one article that costs 24«. a pound, foreign, and twice that English. I've sold hundred weights. The decoctions are my secret I will instruct any person— and have instructed a good many — when I'm paid for it. In course, it would never do to publish it ia your work, for thousands would then learn it for 2rf. My secret was never given to any person — only with what you may call a fee — except one, and only to bun when he got married, and started in the line. He's a connection of mine. All tee sell is genuine. ** I sell herbs, too, but it's not a street sale : I supply them to orders from my connection. It's not a large trade. I sell horehound, for tea or decoctions; coltsfoot, for smoking as herb to- bacco (I gather the coltsfoot myself, but buy the horehound of a shopkeeper, as it's cultivated) ; ground-ivy is sold only for the blood (but little of it); hvssop for wind; and Irish moss for consumption. I'm never asked for anything improper. They won't ask me for or . And I'm never asked for washes or cosmetics ; but a few nettles are ordered of me for com- plexions. " Well, sir, I'd rather not state the quantities I sell, or my profits, or prices. I make what keeps myself, my wife, and seven children, and that's all I need say about it I'd rather say no more on that part of the business : and so, I'm sure you won't press me. I don't know what others in the trade make. They buy of confec- tioners, and arc only imitators of me. They buy coltsfoot-candy, and such like ; how it's made so cheap, I don't know. In the summer, I give up cough-drop selling, and take to gold fish." I am told that the cough-drop-makers, who are also street-sellers, prepare their sticks, &c., much in the same method as the manufsuzturers of the ordinary sweet-stuff (which I have de- scribed), using the decoction, generally of hore- hound or coltsfoot, as the "scents" are used. In the old times, it would appear that the pre- paration of a medicinal confection was a much more elaborate matter, if we may judge by the following extract from an obsolete mecScal work treating of the matter. The author styles such preparations "lohochs," which is an Arabic word, he says, and signifies "a thing to be licked." It would appear that the lohoch was not so hard as the present cough-drop. The following is one of the receipts, " used generally against diseases in the breast and lungs :" — ** Lohoch de farftwa,** the Lohoch of ColUfoot. Take of coltsfoot roots cieansed 8 ozs., marsh-mallow roots 4 028., boil them in a sufficient quantity of water, and press the pulp through a sieve, dissolve it again in the decoction, and let it boil once or twice ; then take it from the fire, and add 2 lbs. of white sugar, honey of raisins 14 oxs., Juice of liquorice 2^ drams, stir them well with a wooiden pestle, sprinkling in of saffron and cloves in powder, of eaeh 1 scruple, cinna- mon and mace, of each 2 scruples ; make them into a lohoch according to art. It is good for a cough and roughness of the windpipe. Without wishing to infringe upon professional secrets, I may mention that the earnings of the principal man in the trade may be taken at 30s. a week for 20 weeks ; that of another at 15«. for the same period ; and those of the remaining four at 5$, each, weekly; but the latter sell acid drops, and other things bought of the chemists. Allowing the usual cent per cent, we then find IdOt expended by street-buyers on cough-drops. The best cough-drop staU seen in the streets is a kind of barrow, which can be shut up like a piano : it cost ZL 10«. complete with the dis- tilling apparatus before described. Scales and weights cost 5«., and the stock-money for the supply of such a stall need not exceed 10«. ; or, in all, about 4t 10«. For an ordinary trade — ready-made articles forming the stock — the capital would be, stall and trestle, 7s. \ scales and weights (which are not always used), Zt, 6(Lf and stock-money, 2s, 6d, ; in all, I3s Op the Street-sellers of Ices and op Ice Creams. I have already treated of the street luxury of pine-apples, and have now to deal with the greater street rarity of ice-creams. A ^uick-witted street-seller-^but not in the "provision" line — conversing with me upon this subject, said : " Ices in Sie streets ! Aye, and there'll be jellies next, and then mock turtle, and then the real ticket, sir. I don't know nothing of the difference between the real thing and the mock, but I once had some cheap mock in an eating-house, and it tasted like stewed tripe with a little glue. You'll keep Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. 2or your eyes open, sir, at the Great Exhibition ; and you'll see a new move or two in the streets, take my word for it. Penny glasses of cham pagne, I shouldn't wonder." Notwithstanding the sangpime anticipations of my street friend, the sale of ices in the streets has not been such as to ofier any great encouragement to a perseverance in the triUHc. The sale of ice-creams was unknown in the streets until last summer, and was first intro- duced, as a matter of speculation, by a man who was acquainted with the confectionanr business, and who purchased his ices of a confectioner in Holbom. He resold these luxuries daily to street-sellers, sometimes to twenty of them, but more frequently to twelve. The sale, however, was not remunerative, and had it not been generally united with other things, such as ginger-beer, could not have been carried on as a means of subsistence. The supplier of the street-traders sometimes went himself, and some- times sent another to sell ice-cream in Green- wich Park on fine summer days, but the sale was sometimes insufficient to pay his railway expenses. After three or four weeks' trial, this man abandoned the trade, and soon afterwards emigrated to America. Not many weeks subsequent to "the first start," I was informed, the trade was entered into by a street-seller in Petticoat-lane, who had be- come possessed, it was said, of Masters's Freez- ing Apparatus. He did not vend the ices himself for more than two or three weeks, and moreover confined his sale to Sunday mornings ; after a while he employed himself for a short time in making ices for four or five street-sellers, some of whom looked upon the preparation as a wonderful discovery of his own, and he then discontinued the trade. There were many difficulties attending the introduction of ices into street-traffic. The buyers had but a confused notion how the ice was to be swallowed. The trade, therefore, spread only very gradually, but some of the more enterprising sellers purchased stale ices from the confectioners. So little, however, were the street'people skilled in the trade, that a confectioner told me they sometimes ofiTered ice to their customers in the streets, and could supply only water! Ices were sold by the street- vendors generally at \d, each, and the trade left them a profit of 4> eaxuiug, Is. 6d. d»ily for fQui: weekSf i^ i|i fis qear the m^rk as possible. This gives aij expeqditttre pf 42/. in street ipeS| with » profit tfl ibe vendors of frppi JO to 25 per ceni I 9|n told that an unsuccessful start has ch vaeteri^ed other street trades — rhubarb for instance, toth in the s^p^ts and markets — wbicji )}ave been afterwfti^ds ^upciessful ^d ren^m^e? ¥9V wip}trf jn th? ice Jrade » pqfj^ sow was necessary, as the vendors had all stalls and sold other commodities, except the " original street ice man," who was no J; a regular street trader, but a speculator. A jar — in which the ices were ^either suflScipntly covered nor kept cpoled, though i^ was o(len placed in a vessel or " cooler," containing cold w^it^r — cost 1*., three cups, 84. (or three glasses, |#.), and three spoons, 3^., with ?«» stpck-mPPey; the total is, presuming glassps were u^, 4*., or, with a vessel for water, 5«. OP THE CAPITAL AND INCOME OP THE STEEET-SELLERS OP EAfABLES AND DRINKABLES. 1 now give a sumiQary of the Capital and Income of the street-sellers of eatables and drinkables. But, ftrst, I will endeavour to arrive at an esti- mate of tbB tAtal Buml^r of people belonging to the class. The streotrsellers engaged in the n^e of eatables and drinkables, are, siimmiBg tlie fe- veral items before given, altogether M47: of whom flOO sell pea -soup and hot eels; 1^50, pickled whelks; 300, fried fish; 300, sheeps trotters; 60, ham-sand wishes; 300, baked 'tatoes; 4, hot gree^ p^as ; 160, meat ; SS, bread; 1,000, oat and dogs' meat; 800, cofibe and tea ; 1,700, gingeff-baer, lemonade, i^erbet, &c. ; 50, elder- wine; 4, pespermint-water ; 28, milk; 100, euf ds and whey find riae-milk ; 60, water ; SO, pies; 6, boiled pudding ; 6, plum ^'duiF"; 150, cakes aad tarts ; 4, plum-oalUs ; SO, oth^ ehe^>ei cakes ; 150, gingerbread-nuts ; 500, cross-buns ; 500, mttHns and crumpets; 200, sweet stuff; 6, cough-drops ; iO, ice-creami. But many of the above are only temporary trades. The street- sale of hot cross- buns, tat instance, lasts only for a day ; that of muffins aad orupipcts, bakod potatoes, plum-'' duff," eougfa-drops, eider-wine, afid riea-milk, ai^ Ml purely winter trades, wlijle the aali of ginger-beer, lemonade, ice-oreams, ^d cmrds and whey, is earried on solely in the smnmer. By this means the number of the street-sellen of eatables and drinkables, never ai any one time reaohes the amount befiore stated. In summer there are, in addition to the 10,000 costers before mentioned, about 1.000 people, and in winter between 4,000 and 5,000, cngageil in the eatable and drinkable branch of the street-traffic. As regards the Capital aad Inoomo> many minute accounta have been prepared. To show the care, as well as the ftdness witii which these returns have been made, I give one of the Tables in its integrity, merely remarking, that similar tables relative to all the other articles have been made; but I condense the details, lest a repetition, however curious in its statistips, should prove wearisome : OAFiVAi.,oii Stock ik Trapk, or per-boxes, Id. each ; 150 mint-boxes, 8d. each ; 150 ohafing'disfaes, 64, each ; 1,800 basons. Id. each; 1,800 spoons, Id. each ; stock-money, 8«. 6d. eachf . 81 ig330 10 0 5 0 Stfeft-Hllerf i^ Pickled Hlwlks. 100 stalls, 4«. each; 150 baskets, %$. 6d. each ; 150 tin boilerit, 8«. Od. each ; 75 pans, Od. each ; 150 jars, 6d. each; 150 flour-dredgers, 4ch; 150 serge aprons, ts. each; stock-money, for 150 vendors, 5s. each 125 18 0 Sireet'SeUtrs of Fried Fish. 800 trays, 1». 6d. each ; 800 fry- ing-pans, \s. 6d. e^ch ; 800 salt- dredgers, 3d. each ; 800 knives, 2d. each ; 800 earthenware pans, 1*. each ; 300 shallows. Is. each ; stock- monev, for 150 vendors, 5*. each .156 5 0 • The hot-eel trade being in conjunction »ith the pea-sovp, the same stall, candlos, towels, sImvcb, and aiwons io for bath. Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. 209 St reel' setters of Skeepa* Trotters, 300 bwkets, Is. 4rf. each ; 800 £ #. d. cotton cloths, 4rf. each ; 300 forks, 2(i. each ; 300 knives, dd. each ; 300 pepper-boxes, Id. eftdh; 300 salt- cellars, Id, each ; stock-money, for 300 seUers, Is, eftch 48 15 0 Street'StUers of Ham Sandwiches, 60 baskets, 2s. each ; 60 tin boilers, 2s, each ; QO knives and forks, 6rf. per pair ; 60 mustard-pots, \d, each ; 60 spoons, \d. each ; ^0 cloths, 5d. each ; 60 aprons, 4td. each ; 60 palts of sleeves, id. per pair i stock-money for 60 vendors, Is* 2d. weekly . . 38 15 0 Street-sellers of Bdked * Tatoes. 300 cans, 21. each; 300 knives. Srf. each; 300 pepper-boxes, Id, each ; stock-money for 300 vendors, ]0<. each 755 0 0 Street-sellers if Hot Oteen Peas. 4 cans, 2s. 6d. each ; 4 vinegar- bottles, Id. each: 4 pepper-boxes, 3d. each ; 12 snucets. Id, each ; 12 spoons, Icl. each ; 4 cloths, 4if. Mch i stock-money fot 4 vendors^ 3t. each 12 8 Street-setters rf Meat (** HmifkiHg BMickirsi**) 150 baskets, 4s. Bd. each; 150 saws, 2s. each ; 150 cleavers, U. 6d. each; 150 steels, Is. 6d. each; 150 belts for baskets, 1*. eftch : 150 do. for waist, 6d. each ; 150 cloths, 6d. each; 150 aprons, 6d. each; l50 pairs of sleeves, 4rf. pet pair; 160 vendors* stock-money, 6s each pet day 138 5 0 Street-seliert qf Bread, 12 baskets, 4«. 6d. each; 12 bar- rows, 40«. each ; 1 long bread-basket, 40s. ; 1 barrow, 80s. ; 18 sacks. Is. each ; stock-money for 25 venaors, at U each ^5 1^ 0 Street-sellers (fOUs* and Dogs**ni$at. 500 barrows, \Ss. each; 1,000 baskets, Is. Qd. each J 500 86ts of weights and aCAles, 4s. each; 1,000 knives, 9d, each; 1,000 steels, 1«. each; stock-money of 1,500 ven- dors, 7s. 6d. per head .... 1|083 6 8 Street-eeUers qf Qtffee and Tett. 150 tobies, 8«.6tf.eiuiht 75 Malls, 6». each ;' 75 coflbe-bArnnrs, 1/. *ach ; 400 coffee-cans (100 Vendors having two cans, and 200 only one), 8«. each ; 1,200 half-pint ctipt ani lanMrs^ M. each, and 900 pints, 6rf. eMh t S|100 spoons. Id. each I 900 plates, \\d. each; 300 knives, 2d* each; 800 pans, 9d. each| 600 canisters, 5rf. each ; 50 screens, 2s. 6d. each ; stock- money of 300 vendors, 6s. each . 485 12 0 Street-sellers of Ghiger-beer. 800 barrows, II. (*ach ; 1,000 atalls^ £ s, d. 5s, each ; 175 Ibttntains, 7L each; 20 ditto, 20/. each} 3 ditto, 100/. eaeh; 9,000 glasses, Bd. each ; 1,500 taftkft. Is. each; 3,000 towels, 6d. each; 500 sets of brewing tttenslls, eorks^ 8cc., 6s. each ; 500 gross of bottles, lOs. per gross, and stock-money for 1,500 vendors, 5*. each .... 3,562 10 0 Street-seUers of Lemonade, Nectar, Sherhet, ^c* 200 stolls, Bs. each ; 500 stone barrels, 5s, 6d. eachi 1,200 glasses, 4|efmint. boxes. Id. each; stoik-*monty for fifty vendors. It. Sdt each ... 14 7 6 Water-tdrrietii 120 pails, 2i. each ; 60 yokes, 6s. dach 27 0 0 * Theft ate altott6th«t Mb tendoH tit Mnoiiade in the streeU, but SOO of theie ttll alto ffiuftr-betf, ani consequently do not have separate stalls, &c. t The Btreet-ielletl of rlce-ittlllt are ineluAted lb the •treei-teuirs of eurds and trhey; henee \hk stalls, ■aucepans, cups, frc, of the two classes are the same. Digitized by Google 210 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. Street Piemen, 50 pie-cans, 1/. each ; 25 turn £ s. d. halfpenny boards, to gamble with, *ls. Qd, each ; 50 gross of tin pie- dishes, \2». per gross; 50 aprons, 8 ill I II I ^ i1 1 mm ■■ able among costermongers. If an absence of heartiness and good fellowship be characteristic of an aristocracy — as some political philosophers contend— then the patterers may indeed be said to be the aristocrats of the streets. The patterers or oratorical street-sellers in- clude among their class many itinerant traders, other than the wandering " paper- workers '*— as those vending the several varieties of street- literature are generally denominated. The Cheap Jacks, or oratorical hucksters of hard- ware at fairs and other places, are among the most celebrated and humorous of this class. The conunercial arts and jests of some of these people, display considerable cleverness. Many of their jokes, it is true, are traditional — and as purely a matter of parrotry as the witticisms of the "fUnny gentlemen*' on the stage, but their ready adaptation of accidental circum- stances to the purposes of their businesa, betrays a modicum of wit far beyond that which falls to the share of ordinary "low comedians." The street-vendors of cough drops — ^infallible cures for the toothache and other ailments — also belong to the pattering class. These are, as was before stated, the remains of the obsolete mountebanks of Eng- land and the saltinbanque of France-~a class of al fresco orators who derived their names frt>m the bench — the street pulpit, rostrum, or platform — that they ascended, in order the better to deliver their harangues. The street jugglers, actors, and showmen, as well as the street-sellers of grease - removing compositions, com -salve, razor-paste, plating-balls, waterproof blacking, rat poosons, sovereigns sold for wagers, and a multiplicity of similar street- trickeries — such as oratorical begging — are other ingenious and wordy members of the same chattering, jabber-* ing, or "pattering** fraternity. These will all be spoken of under the head of the different things they respectively sell or do. For the pre- sent we have only to deal with that portion of the " pattering " body who are engaged in the street sale of literature — or the " paper- workers" as they call themselves. The latter include the " running patterers," or " death-hunters ;" being men (no women) engaged in vending last dyin? speeches and confessions — in hawking " se-cond edi-tions" of newspapers — or else in " working,'* that is to say, in getting rid of what are techni- cally termed " cocks ;** which, in polite language, means accounts of fiibulous duels between ladies of fashion^f apochrjrphal elopements, or ficti- tious love-letters of sporting noblemen and cer- tain young milliners not a hundred miles frvm the spot — " cooked** assassinations and sudden deaths of eminent individuals — pretended jealous afiSrays between Her Migesty and the Prince Consort (but these papers are now never worked) — or awfUl tragedies, including mendacious murders, impossible robberies, and delusive suicides. The sellers of these choico^itrticles, however, belong more particulaj;^.ttrthat order or species of the P»ttgriP^,^jk«1ffi« known as " running pat- tereii,*' or "flying stationers," from the fact of their being continually on the move while de- scribing the attractions of the " papers " they have to sell. Contradistmguished from them, however, are the " standing patterers," or those for whose less startling announcements a crowd is necessary, in order that the audience may have time to swallow the many marvels worked by Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, 2U their wares. The standing patterers require, therefore, what they term a " pitch," that is to say a fixed locality, where they can hold forth to a gaping multitude for, at least, some few minutes continuously. They are mainly such street^sellers as deal in nostrums and the dif- ferent kinds of street " wonders." Occasionallv, however, the running patterer (who is especially literary) transmigrates into a standing one, he- taking himself to *' board work," as it is termed in street technology, and stopping at the comers of thoroughfares with a large pictorial placard raised upon a pole, and glowing with a tdghly- coloured exaggeration of the interesting terrors of the pamphlet he has for sale. This is either " The Life of Calcraft, the Hangman," " The Diabolical Practices of Dr. on his Pa- tients when in a state of Mesmerism," or ** The Secret Doings at the White House, Soho," and other similar attractively-repuldve details. Akin to this " board work " is tne practice of what is called "strawing," or selling straws in the street, and giving away with Uiem something that is either really or fictionally forbidden to be sold, — as indecent papers, political songs, and the like. This practice, however, is now seldom resorted to, while the sale of " secret papers " is rarely carried on in public. It is true, there are three or four patterers who live chiefly by professing to dispose of "sealed packets" of obscene drawings and cards for gentlemen ; but this is generally a trick adopted to extort money from old debauchees, young libertines, and people of de^aded or diseased tastes ; for the packets, on being opened, seldom contain anything but an odd number of some defunct periodicaL There is, however, a large traffic in such secret papers carried on in what is called *' the public-house trade," that is to say, by itinerant " paper- workers" (mostly women), who never make their appearance in the streets, but obtain a livelihood by "busking," as it is technically termed, or, in other words, by offering their goods for sale only at the bars and in the tap-rooms and parlours of taverns. The excessive indulgence of one appetite is often accompanied by the disease of a second ; the drunkard, of course, is super- eminently a sensualist, and is therefore easily taken by anjrthing that tends to stimulate his exhausted desires : so sure is it that one form of bestiality is a necessaiy concomitant of ano- ther. There is another species of patterer, who, though usually included among the standing patterers, belongs rather to an intermediate class, viz., those who ndther stand nor "run," as they descant upon what they sell ; but those walk af so slow a rate that, though never sta- tionary, they can hardly be said to move. These are the reciters of dialogues, litanies, and the various street "squibs" upon passing events; they also include the public pro- poimders of conundrums, and the "hundred and fifty popular song " enumerators — such as are represented in the engraving here given. Closely connected with them are the " chaimters," or those who do not cry, but (if one may so far stretch the English language) sing the contents of the " papers" they vend. These trafilckers constitute the principal street-sellers of literature, or " paper- workers," of the "pattering" class. In addition to them there are many others vending "papers" in the public thoroughfares, who are mere traders resorting to no other acte for the disposal of their goods than a simple ciy or exposition of them; and many of these are but poor, humble, strug- gling, and inofiTensive dealers. They do not puS or represent what they Have to sell as what it is not— -(allowing them a fair commercial latitude). They are not of the "enterprising" class of street tradesmen. Among these are the street- sellers of stationery — such as note-paper, en- velopes, pens, ink, pencils, sealing-wax, and wafers. Belonging to the same class, too, are the street- vendors of almanacs, pocket-books, memorandum and account- books. Then there are the sellers of odd numbers of periodicals and broadsheets, and those who vend either playing cards, conversation cards, stenographic cards, and (at Epsom, Ascot, &c) racing cards. Besides these, again, there are the vendors of illustrated cards, such as those embellished with engpravings of the Crystal Palace, Views of the Houses of Parliament, as well as the gelatine poetry cards — all of whom, with the exception of the racing-card sellers (who belong generally to the pattering tribe), partake of the usual characteristics of the street- selling class. After these may be enumerated the vendors of old engravings out of inverted umbrellas, and the hawkers of coloured pictures in frames. Then there are the old book- stalls and barrows, and "Uie pinners -up," as they are termed, or sellers of old songs pinned against the wall, as well as the vendors of manuscript music. More- over, appertaining to the same class, there are the vendors of playbills and " books of the per- formance" outside the theatre; and lastly, the pretended sellers of tracts — such as the Lascars and others, who use this kii\d of street traffic as a cloak for the more profitable trade of beg^ng. The street-sellers of images, although stnctly comprised within those who vend fine art pro- ductions in the public thoroughfares will be treated of under the head of The Street Ita- lians, to which class they mostly belong. Of the former and present St^et- patterers. Of the street-patterers the running (or flying) trader announces the contents of the paper he is ofiering for sale, as he proceeds on his mission. It is usually the detail of some " bazbarious and horrible miuder," or of some extraordinary occur- rence— such as the attack on Marshal Hajmau — which has roused public attention ; or the paper announced as descriptive of a murder, or of some exciting event, may in reality be some odd number of a defunct periodical. "It's astonishing," said one patterer to me, " how few people ever complain oi having been took in. It hurts their feelings to lose a halfpenny. *^- ** Digitized by Google 216 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. % hurts their pride too much, when they're had, to grumble in public about it" On this head, then, I need give no farther general explanadon. In times of excitement the running patterer (or ** stationer/' as he was and is sometimes called) has reaped the best harvest When the Popish plot agitated England in the reign of Oharles II. the "Narratives" of the design of a handful of men to assassinate a whole nation, were eagerly purchased in the streets and taverns. And this has been the case during the progress of any ab- sorbing event subsequently. I was told by a very old gentleman, who had heard it from his grand- father, that in some of the quiet iowns of the north of England, in Durham and Yorkshire, there was the greatest eagerness to purchase from the street-sellers any paper relative to the progress of the forces under Charles Edward Stuart, in 1745. This was especially the case when it became known that the "rebels" had gained possession of Carlisle, and it was un- certain what might be their route southward. About the period of the " aflftdr of the »45," and in the autumn following the decisiye batUe of Culloden (in April, 1746), the *♦ Northern Lights" were more than usually brilliant, or more than usually remarked, and a meteor or two had been seen. The street- sellers were then to be found in fairs and markets, vending won- derful accounts of these wonderful phenomena. I have already alluded to the character of the old mountebank, and to his "pompous orations," having "as little regard to truth as to propriety." There certainly is little pompous- ness in the announcements of the patterers, though in their general disregard of truth they resemble those of the mountebank. The motmtebank, however, addressed his audience from a stage, and made his address attractive by mixing up with it music, danchig, and tumbling ; sometimes, also, equestrianism on the green of a village ; and by having always the services of a merry- andrew, or clown. The nostrums of these quacks were all as unequalled for cheapness as for infallibility, and their im- pudence and coolness ensured success. Their practices are as well exposed in some of the Spectators of 1711-12 as the puppet-playing of Powel was good-himiouredly ridiculed. One especial instance is cited, where a mountebank, announcing himself a native of Hanmiersmith, where ne was holding forth, oflbred to make a present of 5s. to every brother native of Ham- mersmith among his audience. The mounte- bank then drew from a long bag a handfril of little packets, e&ch of which, he informed the spectators, was constantiy sold for 6s, 6d*, but tnat out of lore to his native hamlet he would bate the odd bs. to every inhabitant of the place. The whole assembly immediately closed with his generous offer." lliere is a scene in Moncrieff's popular fiuoe of " RockesteTf** where the hero personates a mountebank, which may be here cited as afibrd- .iwc a good idea of the " pompous orations" in- duTgeinin by the street orators in days of yore : " Silence there, and hear me, for my words are more precious than gold ; I am the renowned And far-famed Doctor Paracelsus Bombastes Ssculapus Galen dam Humbug von Quack, member of all the colleges under the Moon: M.D., L.M.D., F.R.S., L.L.D., J.S.S.— and all the rest of the letters in the alphabet : I am the seventh son of a aeventh son—klU or curt is my motto —and I always do it ; 1 cured the great Emperor of Nova Scotia, of a polypus, after he liad been given over by all the faculty— he lay to all appearance dead : the first pill he took, he opened his eyet ; the second, he raiaed his head; and the third, he Jumped up and danced a hornpipe. X don't want to sound my own praise — ^blow the trumpet, Balaam {Balaam blowt irumpei) -, but I tapped the great Cham of Tartary at a sittiuff, of a terribls dropsy, so that I didn't leave a drop m him i I cure the palsy, the dropsy, the lunacy, and all the sighs, without costing anybody a sigh; vertigo, pertigo, lumbago, and all the other go's are sure to go, whenever I come." In his unscrupulousness and boldness in street announcements, and sometimes in his humour and satire, we fiud the patterer of the present day to be the mountebank of old descended from his platform into the streets— but without his music, his clowu, or his dress. There was formerly, also, another class, dif- fering little firom the habits of that variety of patterers of the present day who "busk" it, or " work the public-houses." ** The jestours," says Mr. Strutt, in his *' Sports and Pastimes of the People of Bngland," ** or. as the word is often written in the old English dialect, ' gesiers,' were the relatert of the gestes, that is, the actions of Camoua persons, whether fkbuloua or real ; and these stories were of two kinds, the one to excite pity, and the other to move laughter, as we learn from Chaucer: ' And jestours that tellen tales. Both of wepying and of game.' The tales of 'game,' as the poet expresses himself were short joctUar stories caleulated to promote mer- riment, in which the reciters paid little respect tcuhe claims of propriety or even of common decency. The tales of * game,' however, were much more popular than those of weeping, and probably for the very reason that ought to have operated the most power- fully for their suppression. The gestours, whose powers were chiefly employed in the hours of convivi- ality, finding by experience that lessons of instruction were much less seasonable at such times, than idle tales productive of mirth and laughter, accommodated their narrations to the general taste of the times, regard- less of the mischiefs they occasioned by vitiating the morala of their hearers. Heaoe it is that the author of the ' Vision of Pierce the Ploughman ' calls them contemptiblv 'Ju>ers and Juglers, and Janglers of gests.' He describes them as haunters of taverns and common ale-houses, amusing the lower classes of the people with ' mvrth of minstrelsy and losels* tales,* (loose vulgar tales,) and calls them talc-tellers and ' tutelers in vdell,' (tutors of idleness,) occasioning their andltory. 'fbr love of tales, in taremes to drink,' where they learned flrom them to Jangle and to Jape, instead of aUendlng to their more serious duties. "The japers, I apprehend, were the same as the bourdours, or rybaudert, an inferior class of min- strels, and prraerly called Jesters in the modem ac- oeptation of the word ; whose wit, like that of the merry-«ndrew8 of the present dav (1800) consisted in low obscenity accompanied with ludicrous gesticula- tion. They sometimes, however, found admission into the houses of the opulent Knighton, indeed, men- tions one of these jf^jkers who was a favourite in the English court, and could obtain any grant from the king ' a burdando,' that is, by Jesting. They are well described by the poet : ' As Japers and Janglers, Judas' chyldren, Fayneth them fantasies, and fooles them makcth." Digitized by Google j LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. 217 *• It wM a very common and a very fttvomite amuse- ment, 80 late as the 16th century, to hear the recital of verses and moral speeches, learned for that purpose by a set of men who obtained their livelihood thereby, and who, without ceremony, intruded themselves, not only into taverns and other places of public resort, but also into the houses of the nobility " The resemblance of the modem patterer to the classes above mentioned will be seen when I describe the public- house actor and reciter of the present day, as well as the standing patterer, who does not difier so much from the running patterer in the quality of his announcements, as in his requiring more time to make an impres- sion, and being indeed a sort of lecturer needing an audience ; also of the present reciters " of verses and moral speeches." But of these curious classes I shall proceed to treat separately. Of the Habits, Opinions, Morals, and Religion of Batterers generally. In order that 1 might omit nothing which will give the student of that curious phase of London life in London streets — the condition of the patterers — a clear understanding of the subj^t, I procured the following account from an edu- cated gentleman (who has been befbre alluded to in this work), and as he had been driven to live among the blass he describes, and to sup- port himself by street- selling, his remarks have of course all the weight due to personal experi- ence, as well as to close observation : — " If there is any truth in phrenology," writes the gentleman in question, " the patterers — to a man — are very large in the organ of 'self- esteem,' from which suggestion an enquiry arises, via., whether they possets that of which they may justly pique themselves. To arrive at truth about the patterers is very difficult, and indeed the person^ with whom they live are often quite in the dark about the history, or in some cases the pursuits of their lodgers. " I think that the patterers may be divided into three classes. First, — those who vrere well bom and brought np. Secondly, — those whose parents have been dissipated and gave them little education. Thirdly, — those who — what- ever their early history — will not be or do any- thing but what is of an ititierant character. I shall take a glance at the Jlrtt of these classes, presupposing that they were cradled in the lap of indulgence, and trained to science and virtue. ** If these people take to the streets, they be- come, with here and there an exception, the most reprobate and the least reclaimable. I was once the inmate of a lodging-house, in which there were at one time five University-tnen, three surgeons, and several sorts of broken-down clerks, or of othet professional men. Their gene- ral habits were demoralised to the la«t degree — their oaths more horrid, ejttravagant, and far- fetched than anything I erer heard : they wert stupid in logic, but very original in obscenity. Most of them scoffed at the Bibl^, or perverted its passages to extenuate fVaud, to justify vio- lence, or construct for themselves excuses for incontinence and imposition. It will appear strange that these educated persons, when they turn out upon the street, generally sell articles which have no connection with literature, and very little with art The two brothers, who sell that wonder-working paste which removes grease Arotn the outside of your collar by driving it further in, were both schojars of Christ's Hos- pital. They were second Grecians, and might have gone to college { but several visits to sub- urban fairs, and their accompanying scenes of debauch, gave them A penchant for a vagabond life, and they will probably never relinquish it The very tall man — there are several others — who sells razors and paste on a red pagoda-look- ing stall, was apprenticed to a surgeon in Col- chester, with a premium of 300 guineas; and the little dark-visaged mah, who s^s children's money-boxes and traps to catch vermin, is the son of a late upholsterer in Bath, who was also a magistrate of that city. The poor man alluded to was a law-student, and kept two temis in Trinity Hall, Cambridge. Many similar cases might be mentioned — cases founded on real observation and experience. Some light may be thrown upon this subiect by pointing out the modus operandi by which a friend of mine got initiated into the ' art and tnystery of patterism.' ' I had lived,' he said) ' more than a year among the tradesmen and tramps, who herd promis- cuously together in low lodging-houses. One afternoon I was taking tea at the same table with a brace of patterers. They eyed ttife with suspicion ; but, determined to know their pro- ceedings, I launched out the only cant word I had then learned. They spoke of going to Chatham. Of course, I knew the place, and asked them, "Where do you stall to in the huey t " which, fairly translated, means, " Where do you lodge in the town?" Convinced that I was '* fly," one of them said, " We drop the main toper (go off the main road) and slink into the crib (house) in the back dmm (street)." After some altercation with the "mot" of the ** ken" (mistress of the lodging-house) about the cleanliness of a knife or fork, my new acquaint- ance began to arrange " ground," &c., for the night's work. I gDt into their confidence by degrees ; and t give below a vocabulary of their talk to each other :' Word. Bleaning. CrabthetU . ; . . . Shoes. Kite Paper. Nests Varieties. Sticky Wax. Tqlf Gentleman. Burerk Lady. CamUter Minister. Crocus Doctor. B/i^jf An excuse. Btttmy Insane. Mill Tag A shirt. Smeesh A shift. Hay -bag A woman. Doxy A wife. Flam A lie. TevUs A shilling Digitized by Google 218 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. Bull A crown. Flag An apron. " The cant or slang of the patterer is not the cant of the costermonger, hut a system of their own. As in the case of the costers, it is so interlarded with their general remarks, while their ordinary language is so smothered and subdued, that unless when they are profession- ally engaged and talking of their wares, they might almost pass for foreigners. "There can be no doubt," continues my informant, "that the second class of street- patterirs, to whom nature, or parents, or cir- cunistauces have been unpropitious, are the most moral, and have a greater sense of right and wrong, with a quicksightedness about hu- mane and generous things, to which the ' aris- tocratic * patterer is a stranger. Of the dealers in useful or harmless wares---although, of course, they use allowable exaggeration as to the good- ness of the article— many are devout communi- cants at church, or members of dissenting bodies ; while others are as careless about religion, and are still to be found once or twice a week in the lecture- rooms of the Mechanics' Institute nearest to their residence. Orcliard-street, "Westminster, is a great locality for this sort of patterers. Tliree well-known characters, — Bristol George, Corporal Casey, and Jemmy the Rake, with a very respectable and highly-informed man called * Grocer/ from his having been apprenticed to that business, — ^have maintsuned a cnaracter for great integrity among the neighbours for many years. " I come now to the third class of patterers, — those who, whatever their early pursuits and pleasures, have manifested a predilection for van-ancy, and neither can nor will settle to any ordinary calling. There is now on the streets a man scarcely mirty years old, conspicuous by the misfortune of a sabre-wound on the cheek. He is a native of the Isle of Man. His father was a captain in the Buffs, and himself a com- missioned officer at seventeen. He left the army, designing to marry and open a boarding- school. The young lady to whom he was be- trothed died, and thai event might affect his mind ; at any rate, he has had 38 situations in a dozen vears, and will not keep one a week. He has a mortal antipathy to good clothes, and will not keep them one hour. He sells anything — chiefly needle-cases. He 'patters' very little in a main drag (public street); but in the little private streets he preaches an outline of his life, and makes no secret of his wandering propensity. His aged mother, who still lives, pays nis longings in Old Pye-street " From the hasty glance I have taken at the Satterers, anv well-constructed mind may de- uce the following inference: because a great amount of intelligence sometimes consists with a great want of principle, that no education, or mu-edncation, leaves man, like a reed floating on the stream of time, to follow every direction which tlie current of affairs may give him. " There is yet another and a larger class, who are wanderers from choice, — who would rather be street-orators, and quacks, and performers, than anything else in the world. In nine cases out of ten, the street-patterers are persons of intem- perate habits, no veracity, and destitute of any desire to improve their condition, even where they have the chance. One of this crew was lately engaged at a bazaar ; he had ISs. a week, and his only work was to walk up and down and extol the articles exhibited. This was too monotonous a life ; I happened to pass him by as he was taking his wages for the week, and heard him say, * I shall cut this b — y work ; I can earn more on the streets, and be my own master.' '* It would be a mistake to suppose that the patterers, although a vagrant, are a disorganized class. There is a telegraphic dispatch between them, through the length and breadth of the land. If two patterers (previously unac- quainted) meet in the provinces, the following, or something like it, will be their conversation : — " Can you * voker romeny * (can you speak cant)? what is your * monekeer ' (name) ? " — Perhaps it turns out that one is " White- headed Bob," and the other " Plymouth Ned." They have a " shant of gatter " (pot of beer) at the nearest " boozing ken " (ale-house), and swear eternal friendslup to each other, llic old sajring, that " When the liquor is in, the wit is out," is remarkably fulfilled on Uiese occa- sions, for they betray to the "flatties" (natives) all their profits and proceedings. It is to be supposed that, in country districts, where there are no streets, the patterer is obliged to call at the houses. As they are mostly without the hawker's licence, and sometimes find wet linen before it is lost, the rural districts are not fond of their visits ; and there are gene- rally two or three persons in a village reported to be "gammy," uiat is (unfavourable). If a patterer has been " crabbed," that is (ofiended) at any of the "cribbs" ^houses), he mostly chalks a signal on or near Uie door. I give one or two instances : A " Bone," meaning good. V " Coopcr'd," spoiled by the imprudence of some other patterer. D " Ganuny," likely to have you taken up. © " Flummut," sure of a month in quod. In most lodging-houses there is an old man who is the guide to every " walk " in the vicinity, and who can tell every house, on every round, that is " good for a cold 'tater." In many cases there is over the kitchen mantle- piece a map of the district, dotted here and there with memorandums of failure or success. Patterers are fond of carving their names and avocations about the houses they visit The old jail at Dartford has been some years a " padding-ken." In one of the rooms appears the following autographs : "Jemmy, the Rake, bound to Bristol; bad beds, but no bugs. Thank God for all things." " Razor George and his moll slept here the Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, 219 day afore Christmas ; just out of * stir ' (jail), for * muzzling a peeler.' " " Scotch Mary, with * driz ' (lace), bound to Dover and back, please God." Sometimes these inscriptions are coarse and obscene; sometimes very well written and orderly. Nor do they want illustrations. At the old factory, Lincoln, is a portrait of the town beadle, formerly a soldier ; it is drawn with different-coloured chalks, and ends with the following couplet : " Tou are a B for false swearing, In hell they'll roast you like a herring." Concubinage is very common among pat- terers, especially on their travels; they have their regular rounds, and call the peregrination "going on circuit" For the most part they are early risers ; this gives them a facility for meeting poor girls who have had a night's shelter in the union workhouses. They oflfer such girls some refreshment, — swear they are single men, — and promise comforts certainly superior to the immediate position of their victims. Consent is generally obtained; per- haps a girl of 14 or 15, previously virtuous, is induced to believe in a promise of constant pro- tection, but finds herself, the next monung, ruined and deserted; nor is it unlikely that, within a month or two, she will see her seducer in the company of a dozen incidental wives. A gray-headed miscreant called "Cutler Tom" boasts of 500 such exploits; and there is too great reason to believe that the picture of his own drawing is not greatly overcharged. Some of the patterers are married men, but of this class very few are faithful to the solenm obligation. I have heard of a renowned pat- terer of this class who was married to four women, and had lived in criminal intercourse with his own sister, and his own daughter by one of the wives. This sad rule has, however, I am happy to state, some splendid exceptions. There is a man called "Andy" — well known as the companion of " Hopping Ned ;' * this " Andy " has a wife of gpreat personal attractions, a splen- did figure, and teeth without a parallel. She is a strictly-virtuous woman, a most devoted wife, and tender mother ; very charitable to any one in want of a meal, and very constant (she is a Catholic) in her religious duties. Another man of the same school, whose name has escaped me, is, with his wife, an exception to the stigma on almost the whole class ; the couple in question have no children. The wife, whose name is Maria, has been in every hospital for some com- plaint in her knees, probably white swelling : her beauty is the theme of applause, and when- ever she opens her mouth silence pervades the "paddin* ken." Her common conversation is music and mathematics combined, her reading has been masculine and extensive, and the whisper of calumny has never yet attacked her own demeanour or her husband's. Of patterers who have children, many are very exemplary ; sending them to Day and Sun- day-schools, causing them to say grace before and after meals, to attend public worship, and always to speak the truth : these, instances, how- ever, stand in fearful contrast with the conduct of other parents. " I have seen," proceeds my reverend in- formant, " fathers and mothers place their boys and girls in positions of incipient enormity, and command them to use language and gestures to each other, which would make an harlot blush, and almost a heathen tremble. I have hitherto viewed the patterer as a salesman, — having something in nis hand, on whose merits, real or pretended, he talks people out of their money. By slow degrees prosperity rises, but rapid is the advance of evil. The patterer sometimes gets * out of stock,' and is obliged, at no great sacrifice of conscience, to * patter' in another strain. In every large town sham official docu- ments, with crests, seals, and signatures, can be got for half-a-crown. Armed with these, the patterer becomes a * lurker,' — that is, an im- postor ; his papers certify any and every * ill that flesh is heir to.' Shipwreck is called a * shake lurk ;' loss by fire is a * glim.' Some- times the petitioner has had a horse, which has dropped dead with the mad staggers ; or has a wife ill or dying, and six or seven children at once sickening of the small-pox. Children are borrowed to support the appearance ; the case is certified by the minister and churchwardens of a parish which exists only in imagination ; and as many people dislike the trouble of in- vestigation, the patterer gets enough to raise a stock in trade, and divides the spoil between the swag-shop and the gin-palace. Sometimes they are detected, and get a * drag ' (three months in prison). They have many narrow escapes : one occurs to me, of a somewhat ludicrous character. A patterer and lurker (now dead) known by the name of * Captain Moody,' imable to get a ' fake- ment ' written or printed, was standing almost naked in the streets of a neighbouring town. A gentleman stood still and heard his piteous tale, but having been 'done' more than once, he resolved to examine the affair, and begged the petitioner to conduct him to his wife and chil- dren, who were in a garret on a bed of languish- ing, with neither clothes, food, nor fire, but, it appeared, with faith enough to expect a supply fircnn * Him who feedeth the ravens,' and in whose sacred name even a cold 'tater was im- plored. The patterer, or half-patterer and half- beggar, took the gentleman (who promised a sovereign if ever^ thing was square) through innumerable and mtricate windings, tUl he came to an outhouse or sort of stable. He saw the key outside the door, and begged the gentleman to enter and wait till he borrowed a light of a neighbour, to show him up-stairs. The illumi- nation never arrived, and the poor charitable man found that the miscreant had locked him into the stoble. The patterer went to the pad- ding-ken,—told tlie story with great glee, and left that locality within an hour of the occur- rence." [Concerning the mendicancy and vagrancy of Digitized by Google 220 LONDON LABOUR AND TUB LONDON POOR. patterers, I shall have more to say when I speak of vagrancy in general, and when I describe the general state and characteristics of the low lodg- ing-houses in London, and those in the country, which are in intimate counecdon with the me- tropolitan abodes of tlie vagrant My present theme is the London patterer, who is also a street- seller.] Op thb Publishers and Authors of Street-Literature. The best known, and the most successful printer and publisher of all who have directed their industry to supplv the " paper" in demand for street sale, and m every department of street literature, was the late '* Jenmiy Catnach," who is said to have amassed upwards of 10,000/. in the business. He is reported to have made the greater part of this sum during the trial of Queen Caroline, by the sale of whole -sheet " papers," descriptive of the trial, and embel- lished with '* splendid illustrations." The next to Catnach stood the late " Tommy Pitt," of tlie noted toy and marble-warehouse. These two parties were the Colburn and Bentley of the " paper" trade. Catnach retired from business some years ago, and resided in a country-house at Bamet, but he did not long survive his retire- ment. " He was an out and out sort," said one old paper- worker to mci " and if he knew you — and he could judge according to the school you belonged to, if he hadn't known you long — he was friendly for a bob or two, and sometimes for a glass. He knew the men that was stickers though, and there was no glass for thein. Why, some of his customers, sir, would have stuck to him long enough, if there' d been a chance of another glass — supposing they'd managed to get one— and then would have asked him for a coach home ! When I called on him, be used to sav, in his north country way — he wasn't Scotch, but somewhere north of England — and he was pleasant with it, * Well, d — you, how are you V He got the cream of the pail, sir." The present street literature printers and pub- lishers are, Mrs. Ryle (Catnach's niece and successor), Mr. Birt, and Mr. Paul (formerly with Catnach), all of the Seven JDialsi Mr. Powell ( formerly of Lloyd* s). Brick-lane, White- chapel ; and Mr. Good, Aylesbury-street, Clerk- enwelL Mr. Phairs, of Westminster i Mr. Tay- lor, of the Waterloo-road ; and Mr. Sharp, of Kent-street, Borough, have discontinued street printing. One num greatly regretted Mr. Tay- lor's discontinuing the busmess ; "he was so handy for the New-cut, when it wfu the New- cut" Some classes of patterers, I may here observe, work in " schools" or "mobs" of two, three, or four, as I shall afterwards show. The authors and poets who give its peculiar literature, alike in prose or rhyme, to the streets, are now six in number. They arc all in some capacity or other connected with street-patter or song, and the way in which a narrative or a *' copy of werses" is prepared for press is usually this : — The leading members of the " schools," some of whom refer regularly to tlie evening papers, when they hear of any. out-of-the-way occurrence, resort to the printer and desire its publication in a style proper for the streets. This is usually done very speedily, the school (or the minority of them) and the printer agree- ing upon the author. Sometimes an author wul volimtarily prepare a piece of street litera- ture and submit it to a publisher, who, as in the case of other publishers, accepts or declines, as he believes the production will or will not prove remunerative. Sometimes the school carry the manuscript with them to the printer, and undertake to buy a certain quantity, to insure publicatioiu The payment to the author is the same in all cases— a shilling. Concerning the history and character of our street and public-house literature, I shall treat hereafter, when I can comprise the whole, and after the descriptions of the several classes engaged in the trade will have paved the way for Uie reader's better appreciation of the curious and important theme. I say, impor- tant ; because the street-ballad and the street- narrative, like all popular things, have their influence on masses of the people. Specimens will be found adduced, as I describe the several classes, or in the statements of the patterers. It must be borne in mind that the street author is closely restricted in the quality of his cfiusion. It must be such as the patterers ap- prove, as the chaunters can chaunt, the ballad- singers singt and— above all — such as street- buyers will buy. One chaunter, who was a great admirer of the " Song of the Shirt," told me that if Hood himself had written the " Pitifiil Case of Georgy Sloan and his Wif^" it would not have sold so well as a ballad he handed to me, from which I extract a verse : " Jane Willbred we did starve and beat her very hard I confess we used her very cruel, Bat now in a Jail two long years we must bewail, We don't flmcy mustard in the gmel." What t have said of the necetnty which con- trols street authorship, may also be said of the art which is sometimes called in to illustrate it The paper now published for the streets is classed as quarter sheets, which cost (wholesale) It, a gross ; half sheets, which cost 2s. ; and whole ot broad sheets (such as for executions), which cost Zs. Bd, a gross the first day, and 3«. the next day or two, and afterwards, but only if a ream be taken, 5t, 6d,\ a ream contains forty dozen. When " illustrated," the charge is from 2d, to It, per ream extra. The books, for such cases as the Sloanes, or the murder of Jael Denny, are given in books — which are best adapted for the suburban and country trade, when London is "worked" sufficiently — are the " whole sheet" printed so as to fold into eight pages, each side of the paper being then, of course, printed upon. A nook is charged from 6d. to It, extra (to a whole sheet) per gross, and afterwards the same extra per ream. Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. 221 > Of LoNd SoUo-sfeLLfetts. I have this, week given a daguejrreotype of a well -known long-song selleryand hAve preferrea to give it as the trader especially as regards London» has all but disappeared» and it was curioua enouglu " Long songs" first appeared between nine and ten yealrs ago. Tlie long->flong sellers did not depend upon patter — though some of them pattered a little— > to attract customers, but on the Tcritable cheap- ness and novel form in wiiich they vended popular BongS| printed on paper Mther wider than this page, " three songs abreast," and the paper was about a yard loag» which con- stituted the "three" yards of sottg. Some- times three slips were pabted together. The vendors paraded the streets with their "three yards of new and popular songs " for a peliny. The songs are> or were, generally fixed to the top of a long pole, aild the vendor **bried" tlie difi^rent titles as he went along. This branch of ** the profession " is confined solely to the summer t the hands in winter usually taking to the sale of song-books, it being im- possible to exhibit " the three yarids " in wet or foggy weather. The paper songs, as they fLuU tered from a pole, looked at a little distsnoe like huge much-soiled white ribbons^ used as streamers to celebrate sbme auspicious news. The cry of one man, in a sort of i^citative, or, as I heard it called by street- patteYteS) *' sing- song," wasK^' Three yards A penny I Three yards a penny I Beautiful songs! NewMt tongs 1 Popular Songs I Three yards a penny I Song, sof^, songs 1" Others, however^ were gene- rally content to announce merely ** Three yards a penny !" One cried " Two under fifty a fardy !" As if two hUAdfvd And fifty song^ imt€ to be sold for a farthing. The whole number of songs wak about 45. They were afterVrards sold at a halfpenny, but were shorter and fewer. It is probable that At the best had the soi^ beeil subjected to the admeasuirement of a jury, the result might have been as little satisfactory as to some tradesman who, however, after having been detected in attempts to cheat the poor in weights and scales, and to cheat them hourly, are still "good men and true" enough to be jurymen and parliamentary electors. The songs, I am informed, were often about 2| yards, (not as to paper but As to admeasurenicnt of t3rpe) ; 3 yards, occasionally, at first, and hot often less than 2 yards. The cr3ring of the titles was not done with any other design than that of expressing th« great number of songs purchasable fiyr "the small charge of one penny." Some of tlM patterers I conversed with would have made it sufficiently drolL One man told me that he had cried the following songri in his three yards, and he believed in somethti^ like the fbllowing order, but he had cried penn^ soUg books, among other things, latdy, and might confound his more ancient and recent cries : "I sometimes bfegan," he said, "with sing- ing, or trying to sing, for I'm no vocalist, the first fifW words of any song, and them quite loud. I'd begin • The Pops he leads a happy lift, He kAoWB no care '— • ' Bufiklo gala, come out to-night)' 'Death of NelsoH;' The gay cavalier)' *Jim along Josey;' 'There'i a good time coming j' *Dnnk to me onlyp 'Kate Kearney t' ' Chuckaroo - choo, choo - ohoo - choot - lah ; ' * Ch6ckalA - roony - ninkaping - nang ) ' * Paga - daway-dusty-kanty-key j ' • Hottypie-gunnypo- china-coo ' (that's a Chinese song, sir) ; * I dreamed that I dwelt in marble halls;' 'The standard bearer ;• »Jurt like love;' 'Whistle o'er the lave o't;' 'Widow Mackree;' 'I've been roamuigt' 'Oh! that kiss;' 'The old Bnglish gentleman,' ftc, ftc. ftc. I dares say they was All In the three yards, or was once, and if they Wasn't there was others as good." The chief purchasers of the "long songs" were boya ahd girls, but mostly boys, who ex- pended id. or ^d. fbr the curiosity and novelty of the thing, as the songs were not in the most rtfAdable form. A few working people bought them for their children, and some women of the town, who often buy anything fantastio, were also ottttomers* When " the three yards Was at their best," th<} number selling them was about 170; the wholesale charge is from Sd. to 5d, a doxen, according to iike« The profit of the vendors fai the first inatance was abottt M. a dosed. When the trade had all the attractions of novelty, ibme men told ten doaen on fine days, and f6r three or four of the summer months ; so clear- ing between 6*. and T*. A day. This, however, was not an average, but an averAg« might be at first lit. a week profit I am asstired that if twenty persona were selling long songs in the street last summer it Was " the outside," as long songA are now "for fidrs and races and Country work.'* Calculating that each cleared 9«. in ft week, and to clear that took 15i., the profit being smaller tliAn it Used to be, as many mnst be sold At fit each-^wie find 120/. expmided ih long songs in the streets. The character of the tender is that of a patteitr of inforior genius. The stock-money required is U. to 2i.; Which with 2^r. for a pole, and |if. for paste, is all the capital neededi Very fow were sold in the public-houses, u the vendors scrupled to expose them there, " for drunken follows would snatch them, and make belu of them for a lATk." Of RuMNINO PATTBftBM* Few of the residents in Londoh —biit chiefly those in the quieter itrcets — hAve not been ATWised, Attd most f^^quently in the evening, by a hurly-burly on each side of the street An Attentive listening Will not lead any one td an accurate knowledge of what the clamour is about It is from a " mob " or " school " of the running patterers (for both those wcn-ds arc Digitized by Google 222 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, used), and consists of two, three, or four men. All these men state that the greater the noise they make, the better is the chance of sale, and better still when the noise is on each side of a street, for it appears as if the vendors were proclaiming sucn interesting or important intel- ligence, that they were vieing with one another who should supply the demand which must ensue. It is not possible to ascertain with any certitude what the patterers are so anxious to sell, for only a few leading words are audible. One of the cleverest of running patterers re- peated to me, in a subdued tone, his announce- ments of murders. The words " Murder," " Horrible," " Barbarous," " Love," " Mys- terious," '* Former Crimes," and the like, could only be caught by the ear, but there was no annoimcement of anything like " par- ticulars." If, however, the "paper" relate to any well-known criminal, such as Rush, the name is given distinctly enoiu^h, and ^ so is any new or pretended &ct Ij^e running patterers describe, or profess to describe, the contente of their papers as they go rapidly along, and they seldom or ever stand still. They usually deal in murders, seductions, crim.-cons., explosions, alarming accidents, ''assassinations," deaths of public characters, duels, and love-letters. But popular, or noto- rious, murders are the " great goes." The running patterer cares less than other street- sellers for bad weather, for if he "work" on a wet and gloomy evening, and if the work be "a cock," which is a fictitious statement or even a pretended fictitious statement, there is the less chance of any one detecting the ruse. But of late years no new "cocks" have been printed, excepting for temporary pur- poses, such as I have specified as under its appropriate head in my account of " Death and Fire-Hunters." Among the old stereo- typed "cocks" are love-letters. One is weU known as " The Husband caught in a Trap," and being in an epistolary form subserves any purpose: whether it be the patterer* s aim to sell the "Love Letters" of any well-known person, such as Lola Montes, or to fit them for a local (pretended) scandal, as the " Let- ters from a Lady in this neighbourhood to a Gentleman not 100 miles off" Of running patterers there are now in Lon- don from 80 to 100. They reside — some in their own rooms, but the majority in lodging-houses —in or near Westminster, St Giles's, White- chapel, Stratford, Deptford, Wandsworth, and the Seven Dials. The " Dials," however, is their chief locality, being the residence of the longest-established printers, and is the " head meet" of the fraternity. It is not easy to specify with exactitude the number of running or flying patterers at any one Ume in London. Some of these men become, occasionally, standing patterers, chaunters, or ballad-singers—classes I shall subsequently de- scribe—and all of them resort at intervals to country rounds. I heard, also, many complaints of boys having of late " taken to the running patter" when anything attractive was before the nublic, and of ignorant fellows— that wouldn't have thought of it at one time — " trying their hands at it" Waiving these exceptions aug- mentations of the number, I will take the body of nmning patterers, generally employed in their peculiar craft in London, at 90. To ascertain their earnings presents about the same difficul- ties as to ascertain their number ; for as all they earn is spent — ^no patterer ever saving money — they themselves are hardly able to tell their incomes. If any new and exciting fact be before the public, these men may each clear 20s. a week ; when there is no such fact, they may not earn 6s. The profit is contingent, moreover, upon their being able to obtain id.y or only |J., for their paper. Some represented tlieir average weekly earnings at I2s. 6d. the year through ; some at 10«. 6d. ; and others at less than half of I2s. 6d. Reckoning, however, that only 9s. weekly is an average profit per individual, and that 14«. be taken to realise that profit, we find 3,276/. expended yearly on running patterers in London; but in that sum the tiSdngs of the chaunters must be included, as they are mem- bers of the same fraternity, and work with the patterers. The capital required to commence as a running patterer is but the price of a few papers — from 2d, to Is, The men have no distmctive dress : " our togs," said one of them, " is in the latest fashion of Petticoat-lane ;" unless on the very rare occasions, when some character has to be personated, and then coloured papers and glazed calicoes are made available. But this is only a venture of the old hands. Experience op a Running Patterer. From a running patterer, who has been funiliar with the trade for many years, I received, upwards of a twelvemonUi ago, the following statement He is well known for his humour, and is a leading man in his fraternity. After some conversation about "cocks," the most popular of which, my informant said, was the murder at Chigwell-row, he continued : "That's a trump, to the present day. Why, I'd go out now, sir, with a dozen of Chigwell- rows, and earn my supper in half an hour off* of 'em. The murder of Sarah Holmes at Lincoln is good, too— that there has been worked for the last five year successively every winter. Poor Sarah Holmes ! Bless her ! she has saved me from walking the streets all night many a time. Some of the best of these have been in work twenty years — the Scarborough murder has ffill twenty years. It's called < The Scareorouoh Tragedy.' I've worked it mysel£ It's about a noble and rich young naval officer seducing a poor clergyman's daughter. She is confined in a ditch, and destroys the child. She is taken up for it, tried, and executed. This has had a great run. It sella all round the country places, and would sell now if they had it out Mostly all our customers is females. They arc the chief Digitized by Google LONG-SONG SELLER. ••Two under lifty for a fardy! " [From a Daguerreotijpe bf Beard.] Digitized by Google Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. 223 dependence we have. The Scarhorough Tra- gedy is very attractive. It draws tears to the women's eyes to think that a poor clergyman's daughter, who is remarkably beautiful, should murder her own child; it's very touching to every feeling heart. There's a copy of verses with it, too. Then there's the Liverpool Tra- gedy— that's very attractive. It's a mother murdering her own son, through gold. He had come from the East Indies, and married a rich planter's daughter. He came back to England to see his parents after an absence of thirty years. They kept a lodging-house in Liverpool for sailors t the son went there to lodge, and meant to tell his parents who he was in the morning. His mother saw the gold he had got in his boxes, and cut his throat— severed his head from his body ; the old man, upwards of seventy years of age, holding the caudle. They had put a washing-tub under the bed to catch his blood. The morning after the murder, the old man's daughter calls and inquires for a young man. The old man denies that they have had any such person in the house. She says he had a mole on his arm, in the shape of a strawberry. The old couple go up-stairs to examine the corpse, and mid Uiey have murdered their own son, and then they both put an end to their existence. This is a deeper tragedy than the Scarborough Murder. That suits young people better { they like to hear about the young woilian being seduced by tlie naval officer { but the mothers take more to the Liverpool Tragedy — it suits them better. Some of the * cocks' were in existence long before ever I was bom or thought of. The * Great and important battle between the two young ladies of fortune,' is what we calls * a ripper.' I should like to have that there |>ut down correct," he added, " 'cause I've taken a tidy lot of money out of it" My informant, whd had been upwards of 20 years in the nmning patter line, told me that he commenced his career with the " Last Dying Speech and Full Confession of Wil- liam Corder." He was lizteen yean of age, and had tun awav from his parents. *'I worked that there," he said, "down in the very town (at Bury) where he waa executed. I got a whole hatful of halfpence at that. Why, I wouldn't even give 'em seven for abc- pence — no, that I wouldn't A gentleman's servant come out and wanted half a dozen for his master and one for hunself in, and I wouldn't let him have no such thing. We often sells more than that at once. Why, I sold six at one go to the railway clerks at Norwich about the Manning affidr, only a fortnight back. But Steinburgh's little job— you know he mtirdered his wife and ftunily, and committed suicide after —that sold as well as any *die.' Pegsworth was an out-and-out lot I did tremendous with him, because it happened in London, down Rat- cliff-highway — that's a splendid quarter for working — there's plenty of feelings — but, bless Tou, some places you go to you can't move no how, they've hearts like paving- stones. They wouldn't have *the papers* if you'd give them to 'em — especially when they knows you. Greenacre didn't sell so well as might have been expected, for such a diabolical out-and-out crime as he committed ; but you see he came close after Pegsworth, and that took the beauty off him. Two murderers together is never no good to nobody. Why there was Wilson Glee- son, as great a villain as ever lived — went and murdered a whole family at noon -day — but Rush coopered him — and likewise that girl at Bristol — made it no draw to any one. Daniel Good, though, was a first- rater; and would have been much better if it hadn't been for that there Madam Toosow. You see, she went down to Roehampton, and guv 2L for the worry clogs as he used to wash his master's carriage in ; so, in course, when the harristocracy could go and see the real things— the werry identical clogs — in the Chamber of 'Orrors, why the people wouldn't look at our authentic portraits of the fiend in human form. Hooker wasn't any particular great shakes. There was a deal expected from him, but he didn't turn out well. Courvoisier was much better ; he sold wery well, but nothing to Blakesley. Why I worked him for six weeks. The wife of the murdered man kept the King's Head that he was landlord on open on the morn- ing of the execution, and the place was like a &U-. I even went and sold papers outside the door myself. I thought if she war' n't ashamed, why should I be ! After that we had a fine * fake' — that was the fire of the Tower of Lon- don—it sold rattling. Why we had about forty apprehended for that — first we said two soldiers was taken up that couldn't obtain their dis- charge, and then we declared it was a well- known sporting nobleman who did it for a spree. The boy Jones in the Palace wasn't much of an afiair for the running patterers; the ballad singers — or street screamers, as we calls 'cm— had the pull out of that. The patter wouldn't take ; they had read it all in the news- papers before. Oxford, and Francis, and Bean were a little better, but nothing to crack about The people doesn't care about such things as them. There's nothing beats a stimning good murder, after all. Why there Was Rush — I lived on him for a month or more. When I com- menced with Rush, I was lis. in debt for rent, and in less than fourteen days I astonished the wise men in the east by pa3ring my landlord all I owed him. Since Dan' el Good there had been little or nothing doing in the murder line — no one could cap him — till Rush turned up a regular trump for us. Why I went down to Norwich exprtssly to work the execution. I worked my way down there with * a sorrou^l lamentation* of his own composing, which I'd got written by the blmd man expressly for the occasion. On the morning of the execution we beat all the regular newspapers out of the field ; for we had the full, true, and particular account down, jrou see, by our own express, and that can beat anjrthing that ever they can publish ; for we gets it printed several days afore it comes off. Digitized by Google 224 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. and goes and stands with it right under the drop ; and many's the penny I've turned away when I've been asked for an account of the whole business before it happened. So you see, for herly and correct hinfonnation, we can beat the Sun — aye, or the moon either, for the matter of that Irish Jem, the Ambassador, never goes to bed but he blesses Rush the farmer ; and many's the time he's told me we should never have such another windfall as that But I told him not to despair ; there's a good time coming, boys, says I, and, sure enough, up comes the Bermondsey tragedy. We might have done very well, indeed, out of the Mannings, but there was too many examinations for it to be any great account to us. I've been away with the Mannings in the country ever since. I've been through Hert- fordshire, Cambridgeshire, and Suffolk, along with George Frederick Manning and his wife — travelled from 800 to 1,000 miles with 'em, but I could have done much better if I had stopped in London. Every day I was anxiously looking for a confession from Mrs. Manning. All I wanted was for her to clear her conscience afore she left this here whale of tears (that's what I always calls it in the patter), and when I read in the papers (mind they was none of my own) that her last words on the brink of hetemity was, 'I've nothing to say to you, Mr. Rowe, but to thank you for your kindness,' I guv her up entirely — had completely done with her. In course the public looks to us for the last words of all monsters in human form, and as for Mrs. Manning's, they were not worth the printing." Of the Recent Experience of a Running Patterer. From the same man I had the following ac- count of his vocation up to the present time : " Well, sir," he said, " I think, take them altogether, things hasn't been so good this last year as the year before. But the Pope, God bless him ! he's been the best friend I've had since Rush, but Rush licked his Holiness. You see, the Pope and Cardinal Wiseman is a one-sided affair ; of course the Catholics won't buy anything against the Pope, but all religions could go for Rush. Our mob once thought of starting a cardinal's dress, and I thought of wearing a red hat myself. I did wear a shovel hat when the Bishop of London was our racket; but I thought the hat began to feel too hot, so I shovelled it off There was plenty of paper that would have suited to work with a cardinal's hat There was one, — * Cardinal Wiseman's Lament,' — and it was giving his own words like, and a red hat would have capped it It used to make the people roar when it came to snivellinjg, and grumbling at little Jack Russell — bv Wiseman, in course ; and when it comes to this part — which alludes to that 'ere thun- dering letter to the Bishop of Durham— the people was stunned : ' He called me a buffalo, bull, and a monkey, And then with a loldier called Old Arthur conkey Declared they would buy me a ninepenny donkey, And tend me to Rome to the Pope/ "They shod me, sir. Who*i they? Why, the Pope and Cardinal Wiseman. I call my clothes after them I earn money by to buy them with. My shoes I call Pope Pius; my trowsers and braces, Calcraft ; my waistcoat and shirt, Jael Denny ; and my coat. Love Letters. A man must show a sense of gratitude in the best way he can. But I didn't start the cardi- nal's hat ; I thought it might prove disagreeable to Sir Robert Peel's dress lodgers," [What my informant said further of the Pope, I give under the head of tlie Chaunter.] " There was very little doing," he continued, "for some time after I gave you an account before ; hardly a slum worth a crust and a pipe of tobacco to us. A slum's a paper fake, — make a foot-note of tnat, sir. I Uiink Adelaide was the first thing I worked after I told you of my tomfooleries. Yes it was, — her helegy. She weren't of no account whatsomever, and Cambridge was no better nor Adelaide. But there was poor Sir Robert Peel, — he was some good; indeed, I think he was as good as 5$. a day to me for the four or five days when he was freshest Browns were thrown out of the windows to us, and one copper cartridge was sent flying at us with \^\d. in it, all copper, as if it had been collected. I worked Sir Robert at the West End, and in the quiet streets and squares. Certainly we had a most beautiftd helegy. WeU, poor gentleman, what we earned on him was some set-off to us for his starting his new regiment of the Blues — the Cook's Own. Not that they've troubled me much. I was once before Alderman Kelly, when he was Lord Mayor, charged with obstructing, or some hum- bug of that sort ' What are you, my man ? ' says he quietly, and like a gentleman. ' In the same line as yourself, my lord,' says I. * How's that ? ' says he. * I 'm a paper- worker for my living, my lord,' says I. I was soon discharged ; and there was such fun and laughing, that if I 'd had a few slums in my pocket, I believe I could have sold them all in the justice-room. " Haynau was a stunner, and the drayman came their caper just in the critical time for us, as things was growing very taper. But I did best with him in chaunting; and so, as you want to hear about chaunting, I'll tell you after. We're forced to change our patter — first running, tlien chaunting, and then standing — oftener than we used to. " Then Calcraft was pretty tidy browns. He was up for starving his mother, — and what better can you expect of a hangman ? Me and my mate worked him down at Hatfield, in Essex, where his mother lives. It's his native, I believe. We sold her one. She's a limping old body. I saw the people look at her, and they told me artexards who she was. * How much ? ' says she. * A penny, marm,' say I. * Sarve him right,' says she. We worked it, too, in the street in Hoxton where he lives, and he sent out for two, which shows he's a sensible sort of character in some points, after alL Then we had a ' Woice from the Gaol 1 or the Horrors Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. 225 of the Condemned Cell ! Being the Life of William Calcraft, the present Hangman.' It's written in the liigh style, and parts of it will hare astonished the hangman's nerves before this. Here's a bit of the patter, now : " Let us look at William Calcraft," says the eminent author, " in hia earliest days. He was bom about the f^ear 1801, of humble but industrious parents, at a ittle village in Essex. His in&nt ears often listened to the children belonging to the Sunday schools of his native place, singing the well-known words of Watt's beautiful hymn, * When e'er I take my walks abroad, How many poor I see, &c.* But alas for the poor farmer's boy, he never had the opportunity of going to that school to be taught how to shun ' the broad way leading to destruction.' To seek a chance fortune he travelled up to London where his ignorance and folom condition shortly enabled that fell demon which ever haunts the foot- steps of the wretched, to mark him for her own." ** Isn't that stunning, sir ? Here it is in print for you. * Mark him for her own ! * Then, poor dear, he's so sorry to hang anybody. Here's another bit : ' But in vain he repents, he has no real friend in the world but his wife, to whom he can communi* cate his private thoughts, and in return receive con- solation, can any lot be harder than thisf Hence his nervous system is fast breaking down, everv day ren- dering him less able to endure the ezcruclatinff and agonizing torments he is hourly suffering, he is haunted by remorse heaped upon remorse, every fVesh victim he is required to strangle being so much addi- tional fuel thrown upon that mental flame which is scorching him.' " You may believe me, sir, and I can prove the fact — the author of that beautiful writing ain't in parliament ! Think of the mental flame, sir ! O, dear.] " Sirrell was no good either. Not salt to a herring. Though we wwked him in his own neighbourhood, and pattered about gold and silver all in a row. * Ah ! ' says one old woman, 'he was a 'spectable man.' 'Werry, marm,' says I. " Holiest weren't no pfood either, 'cause the wictim was a parson. If it had happened a little later, we'd h&Ve had it to rights; the news- papers didn't make much of it We'd have shown it was the ' Conunencement of a Most Horrid and Barbarious Plot got up by the Pope and Cardinal Wisemany!>r-r the Mas-ser-cree-ing of all good Protestant Ministers.' That would have been the dodge, sir I A beautiful idear, now, isn't it 7 But the murder came off badly, and you can't expect fellows like them murderers to have any regard for the interest of art and literature. Then there's so long to wait between the murder and the trial, that unless the fiend in human form keeps writing beautiful love- letters, the excitement can't be kept up. We can write the love-letters for the fiend in htunan ? That's quite true, and we once had a greatipull that way over the newspapers. But Lord love YOU, there's plenty of 'em gets more and more into our line. They treads in oui footsteps, sir ; tliey follows our bright example. 01 isn't there a nice rubbing and polishing up. This here copy won't do. This must be left out, and that put in ; 'cause it suits the walk of the paper. Wliy, you must know, sir. / know. Don't tell me. You can't have been on the Morning Chronicle for nothing. " Then there was the * Horrid and Inhuman Murder, Committed by T. Drory, on the Body of Jael Denny, at Donninghurst, a Village in Essex.' We worked it in every way. Drory had every chance given to him. We had half- sheets, and copies of worses, and books. A very tidy book it was, setting oif with showing how ' The secluded village of Donninghurst has been the scene of a most determined and diabolical murder, the discovery of which early on Sim- day, the 12th, in the morning has thrown the whole of this part of the country into a painful state of excitement' Well, sir, well— very well ; that bit was taken from a newspaper. Oh, we're not above acknowledging when we conde- scends to borrow from any of 'em. If you re- member, when I saw you about the time, I told you I thought Jael Denny would turn out as good as Maria Martin. And without any joke or nonsense, sir, it really is a most shocking thing. But she didn't The weather coopered her, poor lass I There was money in sight, and we couldn't touch it; it seemed washed away from us, for you may remember how wet it was. I made a little by her, though. For all that, I haven't done with Master Drory yet If God spares my life, he shall make it up to me. Why, now, sir, is it reasonable, that a poor man like me should take so much pains to make Drory' s name known all over the country, and walk miles and miles in the rain to do it, and get only a few bob for my labour ? It can't be thought on. When the Wile and Inhuman Seducer takes his trial, he must pay up my just claims. I'm not going to take all that trouble on his account, and let Iiim off so easy." My informant then gave me an account of his sale of papers relating to the Pope and Cardinal Wiseman, but as he was then a chaunter, rather than a patterer (the distinc- tion is thowti under another head), I give his characteristic accoimt, as the statement of a chaunter. He proceeded after having finished his recital of the street business relating to the Pope, &c. : ** My last paying caper was the Sloaiies. They beat Ha3mau. I declare to you, sir, the knowingest among us couldn't have invented a cock to equal the conduct of them Sloanes. Why, it's disgusting to come near the plain trutn about them. I think, take it altogether, Sloane was as good as the Pope, but he had a stopper like Pius the Ninth, for that was a one-sided affair, and the Catholics wouldn't buy; and Sloane was too disgusting for the gentry, or better sort, to buy him. But I've been m little streets where some of the windows was without sashes, and some that had sashes had stockings thrust between the frames, and I've taken half a bob in ha'peimies. Oh ! you should have heard what poor women said about Digitized by Google 226 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, him, for it was women that bought him most They was more savage against him than against her. Why, they had fifty deaths for him. Rolling in a barrel, with lots of sharp nails inside, down Primrose- hill, and turned out to the women on Kennington^common, and boiled alive in oil or stuff that can't be men- tioned, or hung over a slow fire. * O, the poor dear girl,' says they, *what she's sufibred.' We had accounts of Mistress Sloftne's appre- hension before the papers. We had it at Jersey, and they had it at Boulogne, but we were first Then we discovered, because we must be in advance of the papers, that Miss Devaux was Sloane's daughter by a former wife, and Jane Wilbred was Mrs. Sloaue's daughter by a former husband, and was entitibd to 1,000^ by rights. Haynau was a fool to Sloane. ''I don't know of anything fresh that's in hand, sir. One of our authors is coming out with sorhething spicy, against Lord John, fbr dobig nothing About Wiseman ; 'cause he says lU no one thiug that he's written fbr Lord John ever sold well, something against him may." Of the Chaunters. "As the minstrel's art," wHtes Mr. Stratt, in his ** Sports and Pastimes," " consisted of several branches, the professors were distingtiished by difibrent denominations, as ' rimours, chanterret, bonteoUrs, jougleours or jongleurs, jestours, le^ eonrs, and troubadours or trouvers :' in modern language, rhymers, singers, story-tellers, Jug- glers, rclaters of heroic actions, bu^foons^ and poets ; but jdl of them were included utlddr the general nAme of minstrel. An eminent French fthtiquary say^ of the minstrels, that some of them themselves composed the subjects thiey sang or related, as the trouvers and the con- teurs ; and sbme of them used the compositions of others, as the jougleours and the chantenrs. He further rMnAtjks, that the ttouvers may be said to have embellished their productions with rhyme, while the contents reUted their histories in prose ; the jougleours, who in the middle ages were famous for playing upon the vielle" [a kind of hurdy-gurdy], " accompanied the songs of the trouvers. These jougleours were also assisted by tlie chanteurs; and this union of talents rendered the compositions more harmo- nious and more pleasing to the auditory, and increased their rewards, so that ihey readily joined each other, and travelled together in large parties. It is, however, very certain that the poet, the songster, and the nmsician were fre- quently united in the same person." My ac- count of the authors, ftc, of street literature shows that the analogy still holds. The French antiquary quoted was F8nt;hfet, in his ** Origbe de la Langue et PoCsie Frkn- poisc" (1581); and though Be wrote concerning his own country, his descriptions apply equally to the English mihsttels, whb were principally Normans, for many reigns after the Conquest, and were of the kamc race, and habits, and manners as on the Fiishch side of the Channel. Of the minstrels, I shall have more to sanr when I treat of the ballad-singers and the bandls of street and public-house musicians of to-day, between whom and the minstrels of old there is, in many respects, a somewhat close resemblance. Minstrelsy fell gradually from its high estate, and fell so low Qiat, in Uie 39th year of Eliza- beth's reign— a period when the noblest poetry of any language was beginning to command the ear of the educated in England— tlie minstrels were classed in a penal statute with rogues, vagabonds, and sturdy beggars 1 Putenham, in his '* Arte of English Poeae" (1589), speaks of " taveme minstrels that give a fit of mirth for a groat" One of the statutes enacted in Cromwell's Protectorate was directed agahist All persons " commonly called fidlers or min- streUs." In the old times, then, the jougeleurs and jestours were assisted by the chanteurs. In tlie present day the running patterer — who, as I have shown, is the sufficiently legitimate de- scendant of the jestour, and in some respects of the mountebank— is accompanied generally by a chaunter, so presenting a further point of resemblance between ancient and modem street- folk. The chaunter now not only sings, but fiddles, for within these few years the run- ning patterers, to render their performances more attractive, are sometimes accompanied by musicians. The running performer then, instead of hurtying along with the members of his mob, making sufficient noise to arouse a whole street, takes Us stand with the chaunter in any promis- ing place, and as the songs which are the most popular are — as is the case at many of the concert-rooms — sometimes "spoken" as well as sung, the performers are in their proper capa- city, for the patterer not only "speaks," but speaks more than is set down for him, while the chaunter fiddles and sings. Sometimes the one patters while the other sings, and their themes are the same. I am told, however, that there are only fifty running patterers who are regularly their own channters, fiddling to their songs, wMle the mob work as usual, or one man sings, or speaks and sings, with the chaunter. Two of these men are known as Brummagem Jack, and the Countrv PaganinL From twenty to thirty pat- terers, however, are chaunters alsO, when Uiey think the occasion requires it Further to elucidate chauntlng, and to show the quality of the canticles, and Sxe way of pro- ceeding, I cite a statement of his experience as a chaunter, from the runnmg patterer, whose details of his more especial business I have already given, but who also occasionally chaunts : — Of THE Experience of a Chaunter. "The Pope; sir," he began; "was as one- sided to chliunt as to patter, in course. We had the Greeks (the lately-ftrrived Irish) down upon us morfe than once. In Liverpool-street, On the night of the meeting at Ouildball about Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, 227 the Papal Aggression, we kad a regular skritn- mage. One gentleman said : * Really, you shouldn't sing such improper songs, my men.' Then, up comes another, and he was a little crusted with port wine, and he say^ : ' "What, against that cove the Pope! Here, give me half a dozen of the papers.' The ci^ was tidy for the patter, sir, or the chaunt; there was sixpences ; but there was shillings at the West End. And for the first time in their innocent lives, the parsons came out as stunning patrons of the patter. One of 'em as we was at work in the street ^ve a hit of a signal and was attended to without any parade to the next street, and was good for haif-a-crown I Other two stopped, that wery same day, and sent a boy to us with a Joey. Then me and my mate went to the Rev. W.'s, him as came it so strong for the flre-works on the Fiftii of November. And we pattered and we pattered, and we chaunted and we chaunted, out no go fbr a goodish bit His servant said he weren't at 'home. In course that wouldn't do for us, so down he came his-self at last, and says, werry soft : * Come to-morrow morning, my men, and there'll he two gentlemen to hear you.' We stuck to him for something in hand, but he said the business had cost nim so much already, he really couldn't. Well, we bounced a bob out of him, and didn't go near him again. After all we did for his party, a shilling was black ingratitude. Of course we has no feeling either for or agin the Pope. We goes to it as at an election ; and let me tell you, sir, we got very poorly paid, it couldn't be called paid, for working for Lord John at the City Election; and I was the original of the live rats, which took well. But there's a good time coming to pay Lord Johnny offi " Some of the tunes — there's no act of par- liament about tunes, you know, sjr — was stun- ners on the fiddle ; as if a thousand bricks was falling out of a cart at once. 1 think *The Pope and Cardinal Wiseman,' one of the first of the songs, did as well as 'any. This werse was greatly admired : — ' Now Lord John I^utsell did so bright, to the Bishop of Durham a letter write Sajlng whU« I've a hand I'll flght, The pope and cardinal wisenuui, Lord John'i ancestor as I tell, Lord Wmiam Russell then known well His trae religion woold not sell, A martyr he in glory fell, And now Lord John |o bold aqd flree, Has got a rope as we mav see, To hang up on each side or a tree, The pope and cardinal wiseman.' " This finishing werse, too, was effective, and out came a few browns : — * Now we don't care a fig for ^orae, why can't they let the girls alone, And mind thefar business at home, the poiM aqd cardinal wiseman. With their monslcal red cardinals bat, And lots of wafers in a sack. If they come here with all their clack, we'll wound them fll fal la ra whack. In Ei||(land they «hall not be loose, Their hum bugging is all no use, If they come hero we'll cook their goose. The pope and Cardinal Wiseu^n. CHonus Monks and Nuns and fools afloat, We'll have no bulls shoved down our throat, Cheer up and shout down with the Pope, And ms bishop cardinal Wiseman.' "Then there was another, sir. 'The Pope he is coming ; oh, crikey, oh dear 1 ' to the tune of the ' Camels are coming.' There was one bit that used to tickle them. I mayn't exactly remember it, for I didn't do anything beyond a spurt in it, and haven't a copy for you, but it tickled 'em with others. This was the bit :— * I've heard my old grandmother's grandmother say, They burnt uf in Smithfield lUll ten every day. O, what shall I do, for I feel very queer. The Pope he's a-coming, oh I ozikey, oh, dear !' " Bless you, sir, if I see a smart dressed ser- vant girl looking shyly out of the street-door at us, or through the area railings, and I can get a respectful word in and say, 'My good young lady, do buy of a poor fellow, we haven't said a word to your servants, we hasn't seen any on 'em,' then she's had, sir, for lei at least, and twice out of thrice ; that * good young lady ' ohlovoforms her. " Then this one, now, is stunning. It's part of what the Queen was a going to sing at the opening of the parliament, but she changed her mind, and more's the pity, for it would have had a grand tfStoL It's called *The Queen, the Pope, and the Parliament,' and these is the best of the stanzas ; I calls them werses in conunon, but stanzas for Wick : ' My lords and my gentlemen all. The bishops a|id great house of commons On you for protection I call, For you know I am only a woman, I am really quite hnipy indeed— To meet you like burds of a feather, So I hope you will all struggle with me, And pun away boys altogether, My name is Victoria the Queen. * Our bishops and deans did relent, And say they for ever was undone, Bishop Phllpott a long challenge sent To his lordship the bishop of London, To fight him on Hounslow Heath— But the bishop ^t London was coosey, He gave him one slap in the mouth, And then sent a letter to pusey. No humbuggery stories for vick— * I beard my old grandfather s^y His great grandmother easily loved reckon When they made a fool run away. Whose name was king Jenuny the second. Billy gave him a ticket for soup, Though Bill married old Jemmy's daughter He knocked him txom old Palace yard, To Ireland, across the Boyne water, Long life to victoria the Queen. ' Come here my old fViend Joey ^ume, I know you in silence wont mope now, Go up and get inside the moon And make fast a great torry rope now, And then give a spring and a Jump And you to a peerage shall lise then. For we'll swing top old Pius the Pope And his eminence cardinal Wiseman, Old England and down with the Pope.' Digitized by Google 228 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, " Then there wasn't no risk with Haynau— I told you of the Pope first, 'cause he was most chaunted — no fear of a ferricadouzer for the butcher. How is it spelled, sir ? Well, if you can't find it in the dictionary, you must use your own judgrment What does it mean ? It means a dewskitch (a good thrashing). I've been threatened with dark nights about the Pope, after the Greeks has said: * Fat have you to say agin the holy gintleman ? To the divil wid all the likes o' ye.' Haynau was a fair stage and no favour. Thb werse was best liked :— * The other dav as you must know, In Barclay's brewhouse he did go And signed his bloody name " Ha3mau. The fellow that flogged the women. Baron Rothchild did him abend, And in the letter which ho penn'd He shaid the sheneral wash his Mend, And so good a man he eould not mend. CHORUS Rumpsev bumsy— bane him well- Make hit back and sides to swell Till he roars aloud with dreadful yell. The fellow that flogged the women.* " The women bought very free ; poor women, mostly ; we only worked lum to any extent in tlie back drags. One old body at Stepney was so pleased that she said, ' O, the bloK>dy- minded wHlain! Whenever you come this w.iy again, sir, there's always Id, for you.* She didn't pay in advance though. " Then it ended, sir, with a beautiful moral as appeals to every female bosom :— • ' That man who would a female harm, Is never fit to live.' " We always likes something for the ladies, bless 'em. They're our best customers. ** Then there was poor Jael Denny, but she was humped, sir, and I've told you the reason. Her copy of werses began :-* ' Since Cordcr died on Buystree. No mortal man did read or see. Of such a dreadful tracedy, As I will now unfold. A maid in bloom^to her silent tomb, Is hurried in the prime of life, How could a villain cause such strile She worthy was a fkmous wife. The like was seldom told. cHoavs. She was young and gay, like the flowers of may, In youth and vigour health and bloom, She is hurried to the silent tomb. Through Essex, such a dreadfUU gloom, Jael Denny's murder caused.* " My last chaunt was Jane "Vnibred ; and her werses— and they did tidy well — began : — ' A Case like this you seldom read, Or one so sad and true, And we sincerelv hope the perper- trators both will rue To serve a friendless servant girl, Two years they did engage. Her name it is Jane WUlbred, And eighteen years of age.' " What do you think of the Great Exhi- bition, sir! I shall be there. Me and my mates. We are going to send in a copy of werses in letters of gold for a prize. }Ve*U let the foreigners know what the real native melodies of England is, and no mistake." Op the Death and Fire Hunters. I have described the particular business of the running patterer, who is known by another and a very expressive cognomen — as a " Death Hunter." This title refers not only to his vend- ing accounts of all the murders that become topics of public conversation, but to his being a "murderer" on his own account, as in the sale of "cocks" mentioned incidentally in this nar- rative. If the truth be saleable, a nmning pat- terer prefers selling the truth, for then — as one man told me — he can " go the same round com- fortably another day." If there be no truths for sale — ^no stories of criminals* lives and loves to be condensed from the diffusive biographies in the newspapers — no "helegy" for a great man gone — no prophecy and no crim. con. — the death hunter invents, or rather announces, them. He puts some one to death for the occasion, which is called " a cock." The paper he sells may give the dreadful details, or it may be a religious tract, "brought out in mistake," should the vendor be questioned on the subject ; or else the poor fellow puts on a bewildered look and murmurs, " O, it's shocking to be done this way — but I can't read." The patterers pass along so rapidly that this detection rarely happens. One man told me that in the last eight or ten years, he, either singly or with his " mob," had twice put the Duke of Wellington to death, once by a fall from his horse, and the other time by a " sudden and myst-mous " death, without any condescension to particulars. He had twice performed the same mortal office for Louis Phillipe, before that potentate's departure from France; each death was by the hands of an assassin; "one was stabbing, and the other a shot from a distance." He once thought of poisoniuK the Pope, but was afraid of the street Irish. He broke Prince Albert's leg, or arm, (he was not sure which), when his royal high- ness was out with his harriers. He never had much to say about the Queen; "it wouldn't go down," he thought, and perhaps nothing had Utely been said. " Stop, there, sir,'* said another patterer, of whom I inquired aa to the correct- tiess of those statements, f after my constant custom in sifting each subject thoroughly,) "stop, stop, sir. I have had to say about the Queen lately. In coorse, nothing can be said against her, and nothing ought to ; that's true enough, but the last time she was confined, I cried her aecouehement((txe word was pronounced as spelt to a merely English reader, or rather more broadly) of three I Lord love you, sir, it would have been no use crying one ; people's so used to that ; but a Bobby came up and he stops me, and said it was some impudence about the Queen's eoaehnum t Why look at it, says I, fat-head — I knew I was safe—and see if there's Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. 229 anything in it about the Queen or her coach- man 1 And he looked, and in coorse there was nothing. I forget just now what the paper was about" My first-mentioned informant had ap- prehended Feargus O'Connor on a charge of high treason. He assassinated Louis Napoleon, " from a fourth edition of the Times," which "did well" He caused Marshal Haynau to die of the assault by the draymen. He made Rush hang himself m prison. He killed Jane Wilbred, and put Mrs. Sloane to death j and he announced the discovery that Jane Wilbred was Mrs. Sloane's daughter. This informant did not represent that he had originated these little pieces of intelligence, only that he had been a party to* their sale, and a party to originating one or two. Another patterer and of a higher order of genius — told me that all which was stated was undoubtedly correct, "but me and my mates, sir," he said, "did Haynau in another style. A splendid slum, sir I Capital ! We assassinated him — my«-te- rious. Then about Rush. His hanging lasself in prison was a fake, I know ; but we've had him lately. His ghost appeared — as is diown in the Australian papers — to Emily Sandford, and threatened her ; and took her by the neck, and there's the red marks of his fingers to be seen on her neck to this day ! " The same infonnant was so loud in his praise of the " Ass-sass-sina- tion" of Haynau that I give the account I have little doubt it was his own writing. It is confiised in passages, and has a blending of the " I " and the ** we :"— " We have Just received upon undisputed authority, that, that savage and unmanly tyrant, that enemy to eiva and reli|iou8 liberty, the inhuman Haynau has at last finished his career of guilt by the hand of an assassin, the term assassin I have no doubt wUl greet harshly upon the ears of some of our readers, yet never the less I am compelled to use it although I would gladly say the onerag^ of outraged innocence, which would be a name more suitable to one who has been the means of ridden the world of such a despicable monster." [My informant complained bitterly, and not wiUiout reason, of the printer. " Average," for instance (which I have italicised), should be " avenger." The " average of outraged inno- cence I "J " It appears by the Columns of the Corour le Con- stituonal of Brussels," runs the paper, " that the even- ing before last, three men one of which is supposed to be the miscreant, Haynau entered a Cafe in the Neigh- bourhood of Brussels kept by a man in the name of Priduez, and after partaking of some refreshmenU which were ordered by his two companions they de- sired to be shown to their chambers, during their stay in the public or Travellers Room, they spoke but little and seemed to be very cautious as to joining in the conversations which was passing briskly round the festive board, which to use the Undlord's own words was rather strange, as his Cafe was mostly frequented by a set of Jovial fellowB, M. Priduez goes on to state that after the three strangers had retired to rest some time a tall and rathernoble looking man enveloped in a large cloak entered and asked for a bed, and after calling for some wine he took up a paper and appeared to be reading it very attentively, in due time he was shown to bed and all passed on without any appear- ance of anything wrong until about 6 o'clock in the morning, when the landlord and his fkmily, were roused by a noise over head and cries of murder, and upon going up stairs to ascertain the cause, be disco- vered the person who was [known] to be Marshal Haynau, lying on his bed with his throat cut in a frightful manner, and his two companions standing by his bed side bewailing bis loss. On the table was dis- covered a card, on which was written these words ' Monster, I am avenged at last. Suspicion went upon the tall stranger, who was not anywhere to be found, the Garde arms instantly were on the alert, and are now in active persuit of him but up to (he time of our going to press nothing further has transpired." It is very easy to stigmatise the death-hunter when be sets on all the attractions of a real or pretended murder, — when he displays on a board, as does the standing patterer, "illustrations" of " the 'dentical pick-axe " of Manning, or the stable of Good,— or when he invents or embel- lishes atrocities which excite the public mind. He does, however, but follow in the path of those who are looked up to as " the press," — as the "fourth estate." The conductors of the Lady*s Newspaper sent an artist to Paris to give drawings of the scene of the murder by the Due die Praslin, — to "illustrate" the blood- stains in the duchess's bed-chamber. The Illustrated London News is prompt in depicting the locality of any atrocity over which the curious in crime may gloat The Observer, in costly advertisements, boasts of its 20 columns (sometimes with a supplement) of details of some vulear and mercenary bloodshed, — the details being written in a most honest depre- cation of the morbid and savage tastes to which the writer is pandering. Other weekly papers have engravings— and only concerning murder —of any wretch whom vice has made notorious. Many weekly papers had expensive telegpraphic despatches of^ Rush's having been hung at Norwich, which event, happily for the interest of Sunday newspapers, took place in Norwich at noon on a Saturday. [I may here remark, that the patterers laugh at telegraphs and ex- press trams for rapidity of conomunication, boasting that the press strives in vain to rival them, — as at a " hanging match," for instance, the patterer has the nill particulars, d3ring speech, and confession included — if a confes- sion be feasible — ready for his customers the moment the drop falls, and while the criminal may still be struggling, at the very scene of the hanging. At a distance he sells it before the hangine. " If the Times was cross-examined about it," oDserved one patterer, " he must con- fess he's outdone, though he's a rich Times, and we is poor fellows." But to resume — ] A penny-a-liner is reported, and without con- tradiction, to have made a large sum by having hurried to Jersey in Manning's business, and by being allowed to accompany the officers when they conducted that paltry tool of a vindictive woman firom Jersey to Southampton by steamer, and from Southampton to London by " special engine," as beseemed the popularity of so dis- tii^piished a rascid and homicide; and next morning the daily papers, in all the typo- graphic^ honour of "leads" and "a good place," gave details of this fellow's — this Man- ning's— conversation, looks, and demeanour. Digitized by Google 280 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. UntQ the "respectable" press become a more healthful public instructor, we have no right to blame the death-hunter, who is but an imitator — a follower — and that for a meal So strong has this morbid feeling about criminals become, that an earl's daughter, who had " an order " to see Bedlam, would not leave the place until she had obtained Oxford's autograph for her album! The rich vulgar are but the poor vulgar — without au excuse for their vulgarity. " Next to murders, fires are tidy browns," I was told by a patterer experienced both in "murders" and "fires." The burning of the old Houses of Parliament was very popular among street-sellers, and for the reason which ensures popularity to a commercial people ; it was a source of profit, and was certainly made the most o£ It was the work of incendiaries, — of ministers, to get rid of perplexing papers, — of government officers with troublesome accounts to balance, — of a sporting lord, for a heavy wager, — of a conspiracy of builders, — and of " a unsuspected party." The older "hands" with wliom I conversed on the subject, all agreed in stating that they " did well" on the fire. One man said, " No, sir, it wasn't only the working people that bought of me, but merchants and their clerks. I s'pose tliey took the papers home with 'em for their wives and families, which is a cheap way of doing, as a newspaper costs 3d, at least But stop, sir,— stop ; there wasn't i^o threepennies then,— nothing under 6er8 says. One gent said to me : ' But that ain't the real speech ! ' ' It's a far better,' says I, and so it is. Why now, sir, there's some reading and spirit in this bit The Queen says : ' It it my determination by the assistance of divine providence to uphold and protect the Protestant Church of the British Empire, which has been en- Joyed three himdred years without inteniption, the Religion which our ancestors strutted to obtain. And as long as It shall please Ood to sparo me, I will endeavour to maintain the rights and peron^ves of our holy Protestant Church. And now my liords, I leave you to your duties, to the helm of the state, to the harbour of peaee, and happiness.' " This man showed me the street speech, which was on a broad sheet set off with the royal arms. The topics and arrangement were the same as those in the speech delivered by her Majesty. On Monday mommg last (Feb. 24), I asked the man who told me that prime ministers' re- signations were ''pretty good" for the street traffic, if he had been well remunerated by the sale of the evening papers of Saturday, with the account of Lord John Russell's resignation. " It wem't tried, sir," he answered ; " there was nothing new in the evenings, and we thought nobody seemed to care about it The news- paper offices and their boarders (as he called the men going about with announcements on boards) didn't make very much of it, so we got up a song instead ; but it was no good, — not salt to a fresh herring — for there was some fresh herrings in. It was put strong, though. This was the last verse : ' From the House to the Palace it has caused a bother. Old women are tumbling one over another. The Queen says it is with her, one thing or 'tother, They must not discharge Little John ; Her Majesty vows that she Is not contented, And many ere long will have cause to repent it, Had she been in the house she would nobly resent it. And fought like a brick for Lord John.* " Adopting the calculation of my first infor- mant, and givine a profit of 150 per cent, we find 150/. yearly expended in the streets, in second editions, or probably it might be more correct to say 2002. in a year of great events, and 50/. in a year when such events are few. Of the Standing Patterers. The standinff patterer I have already described in his resemblance to the mountebank of old, and how, like his predecessor, he required n " pitch " and an audience. I need but iterate thiat these standing patterers are men who re- main in one place, until they think they have exhausted the custom likely to accrue there, or until they are removed by the police ; and who endeavour to attract attention to their papers, or more commonly pamphlets, either by means of a board with coloured pictures upon it, illus- trative of the contents of what they sell, or else by gathering a crowd round about them, in giving a lively or horrible description of the papers or books they are "working." The former is what is usually denominated in street technology, " board work." A few of the stand- ing patterers give street recitations or dialogues. Some of the " illustrations" most " in vogue" of late for the boards of the standing patterers were, — the flogging of the nuns of Minsk, the blood streaming from their naked shoulders, (anything against the Emperor of Russia, I was told, was a good street subject for a painUng) ; the young girl, Sarah Thomas, who murdered her mistress in Bristol, dragged to the gallows by the turnkeys and Calcraft, the hangman; Caloraft himsdf, when charged with " starving his mother;" Haynau, in the hands of the draymen; the Mannings, and afterwards the Sloanes. The two last-mentioned were among tlie most elaborate, each having a series of *' compartments," representing the different stages of the events in which those heroes and heroines flourished. I shall speak afterwards of street-artists who are the painters of these boards, and then describe the pictures more fully. There are also, as before alluded to, what may be called "cocks" in street paint- ings, as well as street literature. Two of the most favourite themes of the standing patterers were, however, the " Annals of the White House in Soho-square," and the Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. 238 " Mysteries of Mesmerism." Both supplied subjects to the boards. The White House was a notorious place of ill fame. Some of the apartments, it is said, were furnished in a style of costly luxury; while others were fitted up with springes, traps, and other contrivances, so as to present no appear- ance other than that of an ordinary room, until the machinery was set in motion. In one room, into which some wretched girl might be intro- duced, on her drawing a curtain as she would be desired, a skeleton, grinning horribly, was pre- cipitated forward, and caught the terrified creature in his, to all appearance, bony arms. In another chamber the lights grew dim, and then seemed gradually to go out In a little time some candles, apparently self-ignited, re- vealed to a horror stricken woman, a black coffin, on the lid of which might be seen, in brass letters, Anne, or whatever name it had been ascertamd the poor wretch was known by. A sofa, in another part of the mansion, was made to descend into some place of utter dark- ness ; or, it was alleged, into a room in which was a store of soot or ashes. Into the truth or exaggeration of these and similar statements, it is not my business to inquire; but the standing patterer made the most of them. Although the house in question has been either rebuilt or altered — I was told that each was the case— and its abominable character lias ceased to apply to it for some years, the patterer did not scruple to represent it as still in existence (though he might change the venue as to the square at discretion) and that all the atrocities perpetrated—to which I have not ventured even to allude — ^were still the ordinary procedures of "high life." Neither did the standing patterer scruple, as one man assured me, to ** name names ;" to attribute vile deeds to any nobleman or gentleman whose name was before the public ; and to embellish his story by an allusion to a recent event He not un&equently ended with a moral exhorta- tion to all ladies present to avoid this *' abode of iniquity for the rich." The board was illus- trated with skeletons, coffins, and other horrors ; but neither on it, nor in a hardly intelliffible narrative which the patterer sold, was mere anything indecent The " Mysteries of Mesmerism" was an ac- count of the marvels of that *' newly- discovered and most wonderful power in natur and art" With it Dr. Elliotson's, or some well-known name, was usually associated, and any marvel was ** pattered," according to the patterer's taste and judgment The illustrations were of persons, generally women, in a state of coma, but in this also there was no indecency ; nor was there in the narrative sold. Of these two popular exhibitions there are, I am informed, none now in town, and both, I was told, was more the speculations of a printer, who sent out men, than in the hands of the regular patterers. It may tend somewhat to elucidate the cha- racter of the patterers, if I here state, that in my conversation with the whole of them, I heard from their lips strong expressions of disgust at Sloane, — far stronger than were uttered in abhorrence of any murderer. Rush, indeed, was, and is, a popular man among them. One of them told me, that not long before Madame Tussaud's death, he thought of calling upon that " wenerable lady," and asking her, he said, " to treat me to something to drink the immortal memory of Mr. Rush, my friend and her'n." It is admitted by all concerned in the exercise of street elocution, that "the stander" must have " the best of patter." He usually works alone, — there are very rarely two at standing patter,— and beyond his board he has no adven- titious aids, as in the running patter, so that he must be all the more effective ; but the board is pronounced "as good as a man." When the standing patterer visits the country, he is ac- companied by a mate, and the " copy of werses " is then announced as being written by an "under- paid curate" within a day's walk. " It tells mostly, sir," said one man ; " for it's a blessing to us that there always is a journeyman parson what the people knows, and what the patter fits." Sometimes the poetry is attributed to a sister of mercy, or to a popular poetess ; very frequently, by the patterers who best under- stand the labouring classes, to Miss £liza Cook. Sometimes the verses are written by " a sympathising gent in that parish," but his name wasn't to be mentioned. Another intel- ligent patterer whom I questioned on tlie sub- ject, told me that my information was correct. "It's just the same in the newspapers," he continued; "why the 'sympathising gent' is the same with us as what in the newspapers is called " other intelligence (about any crime), to publish which might defeat the ends of justice." That means, they know nothing at all about it, and can't so much as venture on a guess. I've known a little about it for the papers, sir, — it doesn't matter in what line." Some standing patterers are brought up to the business from childhood. Some take to it through loss of character, or through their in- ability to obtain a situation from intemperate habits, and some because " a free life suits me best" In a former inquiry into a portion of this subject, I sought a standing patterer, whom I found in a threepenny lodging-house in Mint- street, Southwark. On my inquiring what in- duced him to adopt, or pursue, that line of life, he said : — " It was distress that first drove me to it I had learnt to make willow bonnets, but that branch of trade went entirely out So, having a wife and children, I was drove to write out a paper that I called 'The People's Address to the King on the Present State of the Nation.' I got it printed, and took it into the streets and sold it I did very weU with it, and made 6t, a day while it lasted. I never was brought ud to any mechanical trade. My father was a cler- Digitized by Google 231' LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, grymim** [here he cried bitterly], "It breaks my heart when I think of it 1 have as good a wife as ever lived, and I would give the world to get out of my present life. It would be heaven to get away from tlie place where I am. I am obliged to cheer up my spirits. If I was to give way to it, I shouldn't live long. It's like a little hell to be in the place where we live" [crying], ** associated with the ruffians that we are. My distress of mind is awful, but it won't do to show it at my lodgings — they'd only laugh to see nie down-hearted; so I keep my trouble all to myself. Oh, I am heartily sick of this street work — the insults I liave to put up with— the drunken men swearing at me. Yes, indeed, I am heartily sick of it" This poor man had some assistance forwarded to him by benevolent persons, after his case had appeared in my letter in the Morning Chronicle. This was the means of his leaving the streets, and starting in the " cloth-cap trade." He seemed a deserving man. Experience of a Standing Patterer. From one of this body I received, at the period just alluded to, the following information :-*- " I have taken my 5«. a day (said my infor- mant); but* paper' selling now i&n*t half so good as it used to be. People haven't got the money to lay out ; for it all depends with the working man. The least we take in a day is, upon an average, sixpence ; but taking the good and bad together, I should say we take about 10«. a week. T know tliere's some get more than that, but then there's many take less. Lately, I know, I haven't taken 9*. a week myself, and people reckon me one of the best patterers in the trade. I'm reckoned to have the gift— that is, the gift of the gab. I never works a last dying speech on any other than the day of execution— all the edge is taken off of it after that The last dying speeches and executions are all printed the day before. They're always done on the Sunday, if the murderers are to be hung on the Monday. I've been and got them mys^f on the Sunday night, over and over again. The flying sta- tioners goes with tlie papers in their pockets, and stand under tlie drop, and as soon as ever it falls, and long before the breath is out of the body, they begin bawling out" [Here my in- formant gave a further account of the flying stationers under the gallows, similar to what I have given. He averred that they " invented every lie likely to go down."] ** *Here you have also an exact likeness,' they say, * of the murderer, taken at the bar of the Old Bailey ! * when all the time it is an old wood-cut that's been used for every criminal for the last forty years. I know the likeness that was given of Hocker was tlie one that was given for Fauntle- roy ; and the wood-cut of Tawell was one that wa4i given for the Quaker that had been hanged for forgery twenty years before. Thurtell's likeness was done expressly for the 'papers;' and so was the Mannings' and Rusli's like- nesses too. The murders arc bought by men. women, and children. Many of the tradespeople bought a great many of the affair of the Man- nings. I went down to Beptford with mine, and did uncommonly well. I sold all olT. Qentlefolks won't have anything to do with murddrs sold in the street; they've got other ways of seeing all about it We lay on the horrors, and picture them in the highest colours we can. We don't care what's in the * papers ' in our hands. All we want to do is to sell 'em ; and the more horrible we makes the a&irs, the more sale we have. We do very well with ' love- letters,' They are * cooka ;' that is, they are all fictitious. We give it out that they are from a tradesman in the neighbourhood, not a hundred yards from where we are a-stauding. Some- times we say it's a well-known sporting butcher ; sometimes it's a highly respectable publican — just as it will suit the tastes of the neighbour- hood. I got my living round Cfomwall for one twelvemonth with nothing else than a love- letter. It was headed, ' A curious and laughable love-letter and puizle, sent by a sporting gentle- man to Miss H — s — m, in this neighbourhood ;' that suits any place tliat I may chance to be in ; but I always patter the name of the street or village where I may be. This letter, I say, is so worded, that had it fallen into the hands of her mamma or papa, they could not have told what it meant ; but the young lady, having so niuch wit, found out its true meaning, and sent him an answer in the same manner. You have here, we say, the number of the house, the name of the place where she lives (there is nothing of the kind, of course), and the initials of all the parties concerned. We date not give the real names in full, wo tell them ; indeed, we do all we can to get up the people's curioaity. I did very well with the * Burning of the House of Commons.' I happened by accident to put my pipe into my pocket amongst some of my papers, and burnt them. Then, not knowing how to get rid of them, I got a few straws. I told the people that my burnt papers were parliament- ary 'documents that had been rescued from the flames, and that, as I dare not sell them, I would let them have a straw for a penny, and give them one of the papers. By this trick I got rid of my stock twice as fast, and got double the price that I should have done. The papers had nothing at all to do witli the House of Commons. Some was * Death and the Lady,' and ' Death and the Gentleman,' and others were the ' Poli- tical Catechism,' and 365 lies, Scotch, English, and Irish, and each lie as big round as St Paul's. I remember a party named Jack Straw, who laid a wager, half-a-gaJlon of beer, that he'd bring home the money for two dozen blank papers in one hour's time. He went out into the Old-street- road, and began a patter about the political affairs of the nation, and Sir Robert Peel, and the Duke of Wellington, telling the public that he dared not sell his papers, tliey were treasonable ; so ho gave them with a straw — that he sold for one penny. In less than the hour he was sold clean out, and returned and drank the beer. The Digitized by Google LONDOS LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, 235 chief things that I work are quarter-sheets of recitations and dialogues. One is * Good Advice to Yoiuig Men on Choosing their Wives.' 1 liave done exceedingly well with that — it's a good moral thing. Another is the * Drunkard's Cate- chism ;' another is *The llent Day; or, the Landlord gathering liis Kents.* This is a dia- logue between the landlord and his tenant, be- ginning with ' Good morning, Mrs. Lougface ; have you got my rent ready, ma'am?' The next one is 'The Adventures of Larry O'Flinn.' It's a comic stor)', and a very good got- up thing. Another is * A Hint to Husbands and Wives ;• and * A Pack of Cards turned into a Bible, a Prayer-book, and an Almanack.* These cards belonged to Richard Middleton, of the COth regiment of foot, who was taken a prisoner for plajinof at cards in church during divine service. Init the best I do is ' The Remark- able Dream of a Yoimg Man of loose character, who had made an agreement to break into a gentleman's house at twelve at night on "Wliitsun Monday, but, owing to a little drink that he took, he had a remarkable dream, and dreamed he was in hell. The dream had such influence on his mind that he refused to meet his comrade. His comrade was taken up for the burglary, found guilty, and executed for it This made such an impression on the young man's mind that he became a reformed character.' There is a very beautiful description of hell in this paper," said my informant, "that makes it sell very well among the old women and the apprentice lads, for the young man was an apprentice himself. It's all in Very pretty poetry, and a regular * cock.' The papers that I work chiefly are what are called * the standing patters;' they're all of 'em stereotype, and some of them a hundred years old. We con- sider the 'death hunters' are the lowest grade in the trade. We can make most money of the murders while they last, but they don't last, and they merely want a good pair of Itmgs to get them off. But it's not every one, sir, that can work the standing patters. Many persons I've seen try at it and fail. One old man I knew tried the 'Drunkard's Catechism* and the * Soldier's Prayer-book and Bible.' He could manage to patter these because they'll ahnost work themselves ; but * Old Mother CliAon' he broke down in. I heard him do it in Sun-street and in the Blackfriars-road ; but it was such a dreadful failure — he couldn't humour it a bit— that, thinks I to myself, you'll soon have to srive up, and sure enough he's never been to me printer's since. He'd a very poor audience, chiefly boys and girls, and they were laughing at him because he made so many blunders in it A man that's never been to school an hour can go and patter a dying speech or * A Battle between Two Ladies of Fortune.' They require no scholarship. All you want is to stick a picture on your hat, to attract attention, and to make all the noise you can. It's all the same when they does an 'Assassination of Louis Philippe/ or a ' Diabolical Attempt on the Life of the Queen' — a good stout pair of lungs and plenty of impudence is all that is required. But to patter * Bounce, the Workliouse Beadle, and the Examination of the Paupers before the Poor- law Commissioners,' takes a good head-piece and great gift of the gab, let me tell you. It's just the same as a play-actor. I can assure you I often feel very nervous. I begin it, and walk miles before I can get confidence in myself to make the attempt I got rid of two quire last night I was up among the gentlemen's servants in Crawford-street, Baker-street, and I had a very good haul out of the grown-up people. I cleared 1#. Sd. altogether. I did that from seven till nine in the evening. It's all chance- work. If it's fine, and I can get a crowd of grown-up people round me, I can do very well, but I can't do anything amongst the boys. There's very little to be done in the day-lime. I begin at ten in the day, and stop out till one. After that I starts off again at five, and leaves off about ten at night. Marylebone, Padding- ton, and Westminstet I find the best places. The West-end is very good the early part of the week, for any thing that's genteel, such as the * Rich Min and his Wife quarrelling because they have no Family.' Our customers there are principally the fbotmen, the grooms, and the maid- servailU. The east end of the town is the best on Friday and Saturday evenings. I very often go to Limehouse on Friday evening. Most part of the dock-men ate paid then, and anything comic goes off well among them. On Saturdays I go to the New-cut, Ratcliff- highway, the Brill, and such places. I make tnostly 2«. clear on a Saturday night After nineteen years' experi- ence of the patter and paper line in the streets, I find that a foolish nonsensical thing will sell twice as fast as a good moral sentimental one ; and, while it lasts, a good murder will cut out the whole of them. It's the best selling thing of any* I used at one time to patter religious tracts in the street, but I found no encourage- ment I did the 'Infidel Blacksmith' — that would not sell. ' What is Happiness ? a Dia- logue between Ellen and Mary '—that was no go. No more was the ' Sorrows of Seduction." So I wai driven into the comic standing patters." The more recent "experiences" of standing patterers, as they were detailed to me, differ so little in subject, or anything else, from what I have given concerning nmning patterers, that to cite them would be a repetition. From the beet information to be obtained, I have no doubt that there are always at least 20 standing patterers— sometimes they are called *'board[men"— at Work in London. Some of them " run" occasionally, but an equal number or more, of the regular ** runners " resort now and then to the standing paUer, so the sum is generally kept up. Notwithstanding the drawbacks of bad wea- ther, whieh affipcts the standing, and does not affect the running, patterer ; and notwithstand- ing the more frequent interruptions of the police, I am of opinion that the standing patterer earns Digitized by Google 236 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. on an average It. a week more than his running hrotber. His earnings too are often all his own ; whereas the runners are a ' school/ and, their gains divided. More running patterers become, on favourable occasions, stationary, with boards, perhaps in the proportion of five to four, than the stationary become itinerant One standing patterer told me, that, during the ex- citement abotit the Sloanes, he cleared full 3*. a day for more than a week ; but at other times he had cleared only Is. 6d, in a whole week, and he had taken nothing when the weather was too wet for the standing work, and there was nothing up to " run " with. If, then, 20 standing patterers clear 10«. weekly, each, the year through — "taking" 15*. weekly — we find that 780/. is yearly expended in the standiuff patter of London streets. The capital required for the start of the standing is greater than that needed by the running patterer. The painting for a board costs Ss. 6d. ; the board and pole, with feet, to which it is attached, Ss. 6d, ; and stock-money, 2*.; in all, lU Of Political Litanies, Dialogues, etc. To " work a litany" in the streets is considered one of the higher exercises of professional skill on the part of the patterer. In working this, a clever patterer — who will not scruple to intro- duce anything out of his head which may strike him as suitable to his audience — is very particu- lar in his choice of a mate, frequently changing his ordinary partner, who may be good ** at a noise" or a ballad, but not have sufficient acute- ness or intelligence to patter politics as if he understood what he was speaking about I am told that there are not twelve patterers in Lon- don whom a critical professor of street elocution will admit to be capable of ' working a cate- chism' or a litany. " Why, sir," said one pat- terer, " I've gone out with a mate to work a litany, and he's humped it in no time." To ' hump,' in street parlance, is equivalent to * botch,' in more genteel colloquialism. ** And when a thing's humped," my informant con- tinued, "you can only * call a go.* " To * call a go,' signifies to remove to another spot, or adopt some other patter, or, in short, to resort to some change or other in consequence of a failure. An elderly man, not now in the street trade, but who had " pattered off a few papers/' some years ago, told me that he had heard three or four old hands — " now all dead, for they're a short-lived people" — talk of the profits gained and the risk ran by giving Hone's parodies on the Catechism, Litany, St Athanasius' Creed, &c. in the streets, after the three consecutive trials and the three acquittals of Hone had made the parodies famous and Hone popular. To work them in the streets was difficult, *' for though," said my informant, " there was no new police in them days, there was plenty of officers and con- stables ready to pull the fellows up, and though Hone was acquitted, a beak that wanted to please the high dons, would find some way of stopping them that sold Hone's things in the street, and so next to nothing could be done that way, but a little was done." The greatest source of profit, I learned firom the reminiscences of the same man, was in the parlours and tap-rooms of pub- lic-houses, where the patterers or reciters were well paid " for going through their catechisms," and sometimes, that there might be no interrup- tion, the door was locked, and even the landlord and his servants excluded. The charge was usually 2d, a copy, but Id. was not refused. During Queen Caroline's trial there were the like interruptions and liindrances to similar per- formances; and the interruptions continued dur- ing the passing of the Catholic Emancipation Bui until about the era of the Reform Bill, and then the hindrance was but occasional. *' And perhaps it was our own fault, sir," said one pat- terer, ** that we was then molested at all in the dialogues and catechisms and things; but we was tmcommon bold, and what plenty called sarcv, at that time : we was so." Thus this branch of a street profession con- tinued to be followed, half surreptitiously, until after the subsidence of the political ferment consequent on the establishment of a new fran- chise and the partial abolition of an old one. The calling, however, has never been popular among street purchasers, and I believe that it is sometimes followed by a street-patterer as much firom the promptings of the pride of art as from the hope of gain. The street-papers in the dialogue form have not been copied nor derived from popular pro- ductions— ^but even in the case of Political Litanies and Anti-Com-law Catechisms and Dialogues are the work of street authors. One intelligent man told me, that properly to work a political litany, which referred to eccle- siastical matters, he "made himself up," as well as limited means would permit, as a bishop I and " did stunning, until he was afraid of being stunned on skilly." Of the late papers on the subject of the Pope, I cite the one which was certainly the best of all that appeared, and concerning which indignant remonstrances were addressed to some of the newspapers. The " good child " in the patter, was a tall bulky man; the examiner (also the author), was rather diminutive :— *' The old Snglisk BuU John v. the Pope's Bull of of Rome. " My good Child as it it neceuarj at this very important crisis ; when, that good pious and very rea- sonable old gentleman Pope Pi-ass the nlneth has promised to favor us with his presence, and the plea- sures of Popery— and trampled on the rights and pri- vilages which, we, as Englishmen, and Protestants, have engaged for these last three hundred years— Since Bluff, king Hal. began to take a dislike to the broad brimmed hat of the venerable Cardinal Wolsey, and proclaimed himself an heretic ; It is necessary I say, for you, and all of you, to be perfect in your Les- sons so as you may be able to verbly chastise thU saucy prelate, his newly made Cardinal Foolishman, and the whole host of Puseites and protect oar beloved Queen, our Church, and our Constitution. ** Q. Now my boy can yon tell me what is your Namef •• J. B Protestant. Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. 237 " Q. How came you br that name f "J. At the time of Harry the stout, when Popery was in a galloping consumption the people protested against the snrpremacy and instalence of the Pope ; and his Colleges had struck deep at the hallow tree of superstition I gained the name of Protestant, and proud am I, and ever shall be to stick to it till the day of my death. " Lei u* »ay. " From all Cardinals whether wise or foolish. Oh ! Queen Spare us. " Spare im. Oh Qmeen. " From the pleasure of the Rack, and the fHend- ship of the kind hearted officers of the Inquisition. Oh I Johnny hear us. "Ok I Rtusell hear us. " From the comforts of being firisled like a devil'd kindney. Oh ! Nosey save us. *' Hear us Oh Arikmr. " From such saucy Prelates, as Pope Pi-ass. Oh ! Cumming's saYc us. *' Save ut good Cumming. " And let us have no more Burnings in smithfield, no more warm drinks in the shape of boiled oil, or, molten lead, and send the whole host of Pusyites along with the Pope, Cardinals to the top of mount Vesuvius there to dine off of hot lava, so that we may live in peace 9c shout long live our Queed, and No Popery f " For some pitches the foregomg was sufficient, for « street auditory ** hates too long a patter ;" but where a favourable opportunity offered, easily tested by the pecuniary beginnings, the " Lesson of the Day" was given in addition, and was in- serted after the second "Answer" in the fore- going parody, so preceding the " Let us say :" ** The Leseon of the Dag. " Yon seem an intelligent lad, so I think you are Suite capable of Reading with me the Lessons for this ay's service. " Now the Lesson for the day is taken from all parts of the Book of Martyr's, beginning at just where you like. " It was about the year 1835. that a certain renagade of the name of Pussy — I beg his pardon, I mean Pusey, like a snake who stung his master commenced crawling step by step, ftrom the master; he was bound to serve to worship a puppet, arrayed in a spangle and tincel of a romlsh showman. " And the pestelance that he shed around spread rapidly throuffh the minds of many unworthy members of our estabUahed Church ; even up to the present year, 1850, inasmuch that St Bamabus, of Pimlico, unable to to see the truth by the idd of his occulars, mounted four pounds of long sixes in the mid-day, that he might see through the fog of his own folly, by which he was surrounded. " And Pope Pi-ass the nineth taking advantage of the hubub, did create unto himself a Cardinal in the person of one Wiseman of Westminster. " And Cardinal broadbrim claimed four counties in England as hlsdioces, and his master the Pope claimed OS many more as his sees, but the people of England could not see that, so they declared aloud they would «ee them blowed first. " So when Jack Russell heard of his most impudent intentions, he sent him a Letter saying it was the intention of the people of England never again to sub- mit to their innunous mumervs for the burnings in Smithfield was still firesh in their memory. " And behold great meetings were held in different parts of England where the Pope was burnt in effigy, like unto a Yarmouth Bloater, as a token of respect for him and his followers. " And the citixens of London were stanch to a man, and assembled together in the Guildhall of our mighty City and shouted with stentarian lungs, long live the Queen and down with the Pope, the sound of which might have been heard even unto the Vatican of Rome. " And when hit holvness the Pope heard that his power was set at naught, his nose became blue even as a bilberry with rage and declared Russell and Cum- mings or anv who Jomed in the No Popery cry, should ever name the felisity of kissing his pious great toe. " Thus Endeth the Lesson.'* In the course of my inquiries touching this subject I had more than once occasion to observe that an acute patterer had always a reason, or an excuse for anything. One quick-witted Irish- man, whom I knew to be a Roman Catholic, was "working" a "patter against tlie Pope," (not the one I have given), and on my speaking to him on the subject, and saying that I sup- posed he did it for a living, he replied : " That's It then, sir. You're right, sir, yes. I work it just as a Catholic lawyer would plead again&t a Catholic paper for a libel on Protestants — though in his heart he knew the paper was right — and a Protestant lawyer would defend the libel hammer and tongs. Bless you, sir, you'll not find much more honour that way among us (laughing) than among them lawyers; not much." The readiness with which the sharpest of those men plead the doings not only of tradesmen, but of the learned and sacred professions, to justify themselves, is remarkable. Sometimes a dialogue is of a satirical nature. One man told me that the " Conversation be- tween Achilles and the Wellington Statue," of which I give the concluding moiety, was "among the best," (he meant for profit), " but no great thing." My informant was Achilles — or, as he pronounced it, Atchilees — and his mate was the statue, or " man on the horse." The two lines, in the couplet form, which precede every two paragraphs of dialogue, seem as if they repre- sent the speakers wrongfully. The answer should be attributed, in each case, to Achilles. '* The hoarse voice it came firom the statue of Achilles And 'twas answer'd thus by the man on the horse. '*' Little man of little mind havn't I now got iron blinds, and bomb-proof rails when danger assails, a cunning devised Job, to keep out an unruly mob, with high and ambitious views and remarkable queer shoes ; I say, Old Nakedness, I say, come and see my flronti^ over the way, but I believe you can't get out after ten! " No, you're as near where you are as at Quatre Bras, I hear a great deal what the public think and feel, plain as the nose on your face, we're deemed a national disgrace; they grumble at your highness, and at my want of shyness, and say many unpleasant things of Ligny and Alarchienne ! " The hoarse voice it came fTom the statue of Achilles And 'twas answered thus by the man on the horse. "Ah I its a few days since the Nive, where Soult found me all alive, and the grand toralloo I made at Bordeaux ; wasn't I in a nice mess, when Boney left Elba and left no address, besides 150 other jobs with the chill off I could bring to view. " But then people wiU say, poor unfortunate Ney, and that you were dancing at a ball, and not near Uogumont at all, and that the job of St. Helena might have been done rather cleaner, and it was a shameAil go to send Sir Hudson Lowe, and that you took parti- cular care of No. I, at Waterloo. '* The hoarse voice It came from the sUtue of Achilles And 'twas answer'd thus by the man on the horse. " Why flog 'em and 'od 'rot em, who said ' Up Guards and at 'em r and you know that nice treat I received in Downing Street, when hooted by a thousand or near, defended 1^ an old grenadier, so no whopping I got. Digitized by Google 238 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. ffood luck to his old tin pot, oh ! there's a deal of brass in me I'll alloMr. " Its prophecied you'll break down, they're crying it about town, and many jokes are past, that you're brought to the scaflTold at lost, and they say I look black, because I've no shirt to my back, and its getting broad daylight, I vow I " The hoarse voice it came ftom the statue of Achilles But 'twas answer'd thus by the man on the horse. " H. T. UOOKKR." Of parodies other thaii the sort of compound of the Litany and other portions of the Church Service, which I have given, there are none in the streets — neither are there political duets. Such productions as parodies on popular songs, "Cab! cab! cab ! " or " Trip ! trip! trip!" are now almost always derived, for street-service, from the concert-rooms. But they relate more immediately to ballads, or street song ; and not to patter. Of " Cocks," etc. Thbsb ** literary forgeries," if so they may be called, have already been alluded to under the head of the " Death and Fire Hunters," but it is necessary to give a short account of a few of the best and longest know nof those stereotyped ; no new cocks, except for nn occasion, nave oeen printed for some years. One of the stereotyped cocks is, the " Married Man Caught in a Trap." One man had known it sold "for years and years," and it served, he said, when there was any police report in the papers about sweethearts in coal-cellars, &c. The illustration embraces two compartments. In one a severe-looking female is assaultinj* a man, whose hat has been knocked off by the contents of a water-jug, which a very stout woman is pouring on his head from a window. In the other compartment, as if from an adjoin- ing room, two women look on encouragingly. The subject matter, however, is in no accord- ance with the title or the embellishment It is a love-letter from John S— n to his most "adora- ble Mary." He expresses the ardour of his passion, and then twits his adored with some- thing beyond a flirtation with Robert E— , a " decoyer of female innocence." Placably overlooking this, however, John S — n con- tinues : — *' My dearest angel consent to my request, and keep me no lonjrnr in suspense— nothing, on my part, shall ever ho wanting to make you happy and comfortable. My apprenticeship will expire In fbur months firom hence, when I intend to open a shop In the small ware line, and your abilities in dress-making and self-adjust- in? stay-maker, and the assistance of a few female me- chanics, we shall be able to realise an Independency." " Many a turn in seductions Ulked about in the papers and not talked about nowhere," said one man, " has that slum served for, besides other things, such as love-letters, and confes- sions of a certain lady in this neighbourhood." Another old cock is headed, " Extraordinary and Funny Doings in this Neighbourhood." The illustration is a yoimg lady, in an evening dress, sitting with an open letter in her hand, on a sort of garden- seat, m what appears to be a churchyard. After a smart song, enforcing the ever-neglected advice that people should " look at home and mind their own business," are two letters, the first from R. G. ; the answer fVom S. H. M. The gentleman's epistle com* mences:— " Madam, *• Thelove and tendemessl have hlthertoexpressed for you is false, and I now feel that my Indiflference towards you increases every day, and the more I see you the more fou appear ridiculous in my eyet and contemptible- feel Inclined & in every respect disposed & determined to hate you. Believe me, I never had any Inclination to offer you ray hand." The lady responds in a similar strain, and the twain appear very angry, mitil a foot-note offers an explanation : '* By reading every other line of the above letters the true meaning will be found." Of this class of cocks I need cite no other specimens, but pass on to one of another species — the " Cruel and Inhuman Murder Committed on the Body of Capt. Lawson." The illustration is a lady, wearing a coronet, stabbing a gentlem&n, in full dress, through the top button of his waistcoat. The narrative commences : — •• WITH surtiriso wc have learned that this neigh- lK>urhood for a length of time was amazingly alarmed this day by a crowd of people carrying the body of Mr. James Lawless, to a doctor while streams of blood besmeared the way in such a manner that the cries of Murder re echoed the sound of numerous voices. It appears that the cause of alann, originated through a court-ship attended with a solemn promise of mar riage b.-tween him and miss Luc^ Ouard, a handsome young Lady of rertncd feelings with the Intercourse of a superior enlightened mind she lived with her aunt who spar'd neither pain nor cost to improve the talents of miss G. those seven years past, since the death of her mother in Ludgatc Itill, London, and bore a most excellent character until she got entangled by the delumps alcurcmcnt of Mr. L." Tlie writer then deplores Miss Guard's fiill from virtue, and her desertion by her betrayer, " on accoimt of her fortune being small." Capt Lawson, or Mr. James Lawless, next woos a wealthv City maiden, and the banns are published. What follows seems to me to be a rather intricate detail : — *' We find that the Intended bride learned that Hiss Guard, held certain promissory letters of his, and that she was determined to enter an action against him for a breach of promise, which moved clouded Bdipse over the extacy of the variable miss Lawless who knew that Miss O had Letters of his sufficient to substan^ iiate her claims in a court." Lawson visits Miss Ouard to wheedle her out of his letters, but "she drew a large carving-knife and stabbed him under the Idt breast'-' At the latest accoimt the man was left without hope of recovery, while " the valiant victress" was "ordered to submit to judicial decorum in the nineteenth year of her ase." The mtirders and other atrocities for which this "cock" has been sponsor, are — I was informed emphatically — a thundering lot ! I conclude with another cock, which may be called a narrative " on a subject," as we have " ballads on a subject " (afterwards to be de- scribed), but with this difference, that the narra- tive is fictitious, and the ballad must be founded Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. 231) on a real event, however embellished. The highest newspaper style, I was told, was aimed at. Part of the production reads as if it had done service duringr the Revolution of February, 1848. " Expreu from Paris. Supposed Doath of LOUIS NAP0LB0N» We stop the press to announce, That Luis i^apoleon hat been attasinated. by some it is said he is shot dead, bjr others that he is only wounded in the right arm. " We have most important Intelligence from Paris. That capiul is in a sute of insurrection. Tlie viva- cious people, who have herefore defeated the gover- ment oy paving-stones, have agnin taken up those missiles. On Tuesday the Minbters forbade the reform banquet, and the prefect of police published a proclamation warning the people to respect the laws, which he declared were violated, and he meant to enforce them. But the people dispised the proclama tion and rejected his authority. They assembled in great multitudes round the Chambers of Deputies, and forced their way over the walls. They were attacked by the troops and dispersed, but, re-assembled in various quarters. They showed their haired of M. Ouisot by demolishing his windows and attempting to force an entrance into his hotel, but were again repulced by the troops. All the military in Paris, and all the National Guard, have been summoned to arms, and every preparation made on the part of the government to put down the people. " The latter have raised barricades in various places, and have unpaved the streets, overturned omnibusses, and made preparations for a vigorous assault, or a protracted resistanee. '* Five o'Closk— At this memont the Rue St. Honore is blockaded by a detachment dragooas, who fill the market-place near the Rue des Petits Champs, and are charging the people sword In hand, carriages full of deople are being taken to the hospitals. " In fket the maddest excitement reigns throughout the capital. " Halfpast Six.— During the above we have insti- tuted enquiries at the Foreign ofBce, they have not received any Inteligence of the above report, if it lias come, it must have been by pigeon express. We have not given the above in our columns with a view of its anthenticitv, any further information as soon as ob- tained shall be immediately announced to the public." Or "Strawino." I have already alluded to " strawing," which can hardly be described as quackery. It is rather a piece of mountebankcry. Many a quack— confining the tenii to its most common signification, that of a " quack doctor " — has faith in the excellence of his own noBtrums, and 80 proAcrs that which he believes to be curative: the strawer, however, sells what he knows is not what he represents it The strawer ofibrs to »eU any passer by in the streets a straw. and to give tlie purchaser a paper which he dares not sell. Accordingly as he judges of the character of his audience, so he intimates that the pi^r is political, libellous, irreligious, or indecent I am told that m far back as twenty-five Or twenty-six years, strawi were st^d, bat «nly in the country, with leaves from the RepmbUcan, a periodical published by Carlile, tlien of Fleet- street, which bad been prosecuted by the govern- ment ; but it seems that the trade died away, and was little or hardly known agam until the time of the trial of Queen Caroline, and tlien but sparingly. The straw sale reached its higliest commercial pitch at the era of the Reform liill. The most successful trader iii the article is remembered among the patterers as " Jack Straw," who was oft enough repre- sented to me as the original strawer. If I inquired further, the answer was : " Ue was the first in my time." This Jack Straw was, I am told, a fine-looking man, a natural son of Henry Hunt, the blacking manufacturer. He was described to me as an inveterate drankard and a very reckless fellow. One old hand was certain that this man was Hunt's son, as he himself had "worked" with him, and was sometimes sent by him when he was " in trou • ble," or in any strait, to 32, Broadwall, Black- friars, for assistance, which was usually ren- dered. (This was the place where Hunt's " Matchless Blacking " and " Roasted Com " were vended.) Jack Straw's principal ** pitch " was at Hyde Park Corner, "where," said the man whom I have mentioned as working with him, " he used to come it very strong against Old Nosey, the Hyde Park biilly as he called him. To my knowledge he's made 10*., and he's made I5s. on a night O, it didn't matter to him what he sold with his straws, religion or anything. There was no three-pennies (thiee- peimy newspapers) then, and he had had a gentleman's education, and knew what to say, and so the straws went off like smoke." Tiie articles which this man "durst not sell" were done up in paper, so that no one could very well peruse them on the spot, as a sort of stealth was implied. On my asking Jack Straw's co- worker if he had ever drank with him, " Drank with him ! " he answered, " Yes, many a time. I've gone out and pattered, or chauuted, or anything, to get money to Duy him two S lasses of brandy — and good braudv was very ear then — before he could start, for he was all of a tremble until he had his medicine. If I couldn't get brandy, it was the best rum, 'cause he had all the tastes of a gentleman. Ah I he's been dead some years, sir, but where he died I don't know. 1 only heard of his death. He was a nice kindly fellow." The ruse in respect of strawing is not remark- able for its originality. It was an old smug- gler's trick to sell a sack and give the keg of contraband spirit placed within it and padded out with straw so as to resemble a sack of corn. The hawkers, prior to 1826, when Mr. lluskis- son introduced changes into the Silk Laws, gave "real Ingy handkercliiefs" (sham) to a cus- tomer, and sold him a knot of tape lor about 4* . The price of a true Bandana, then prohibited, and sold openly in the draper's shops, was about 8«. The K&Bt India Company imported about a million of Bandanas yearly ; they were sold by auction for exportation to Hamburgh, &c., at about 4*. each, and were nearly all smuggled back again to England, and disposed of as I have stated. It is not possible to give anythmg like sta- tistics as to the money realised by strawing. A well-informed man calculated that when the Digitized by Google 240 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, trade was at its best, or from 1832 to 1836, there might be generally fifty working it in the coimtry and twenty in London ; they did not confine themselves, however, to strawing, but resorted to it only o\\ favourable opportimities. Now there are none in London — their numbers diminished gradually — and very rarely any in tlie country. Of the Sham Indecent Street-trade. This is one of tliose callings which are at once repulsive and ludicrous; repulsive, when it is considered imder what pretences the papers are sold, and ludicrous, when the disappointment of the gulled purchaser is contemplated. I nave mentioned that one of the allurements held out by the strawer was that his paper — the words used by Jack Straw — could *' not be ad- mitted into families." Those following the '' sham indecent trade" for a time followed his example, and professed to sell straws and give away papers; but the London police became very observant of the sale of straws — more espe- cially under the pretences alluded to — and it has, for the last ten years, been rarely pursued in the streets. The plan now adopted is to sell the scaled packet itself, which the "patter" of the street- seller leads his auditors to believe to be some improper or scandalous publication. The packet IS some coloured paper, in which is placed a portion of an old newspaper, a Christ- mas carol, a religious tract, or a slop-tailor's puff (given away in the streets for the behoof of another class of g^Us). The enclosed paper is, however, never indecent From a man who had, not long ago, been in this trade, I had the following account He was very anxious that nothing should be said which would lead to a knowledge that he was my in- formant After having expressed his sorrow that he had ever been driven to this trade from distress, he proceeded to justify himsel£ He argued — and he was not an ignorant man — that there was neither common sense nor common justice in interfering with a man like him, who, " to cam a crust, pretended to sell what shop- keepers f that must pay church and all sorts of rates, sold without being molested." The word "shopkeepers" was uttered with a bitter em- phasis. There are, or were, he continued, shops — for he seemed to know them all— and some of them had been carried on for years, in which slinmeless publications were not only sold, but exposed in the windows ; and why should be be considered a greater offender than a shopkeeper, and be knocked about by the police? There are, or lately were, he said, such shops in the Strand, Fleet-street, a court off Lu^ale-hill, Holbom, Drury-lanc, Wych-street, the courts near Drury-lane Theatre, Haymarket, High- street, Bloomsbury, St Martin* s-court, May's buildings, and elsewhere, to say nothing of Holywell-street I Yet he must be interfered witli I [lynay here remark, that I met with no strceUsellers who did not disbelieve, or affect to disbelieve, that they were really meddled with by die police for obstructing the thoroughfare. They either hint, or plainly state, that they are removed solely to please the shop-keepers. Such was the reiterated opinion, real or pre- tended, of my present informant] I took a statement from this man, but do not care to dwell upon the subject The trade, in the form I have described, had been carried on, he thought, for the last six years. At one time, 20 men followed it; at present, he believed there were only 6, and they worked only at intervals, and as opportunities offered: some going out, for instance, to sell almanacs or me- morandum books, and, when they met witli a favourable chance, offering their sealed packets. My informant's customers were principally boys, young men, and old gentlemen ; but old gentlemen chiefly when the trade was new. This street- seller* 8 "great gun," as he called it, was to make up packets, as closely resem- bling as he could accomplish it, those which were displayed in the windows of any of the shops I have alluded to. He would then sta- tion himself at some little distance from one of those shops, and, if possible, so as to encounter those who had stopped to study the contents of the window, and would represent — broadly enough, he admitted, when he dared— that he could sell for 6rf. what was charged 5*., or 2s. 6(/., or whatever price he had seen announced, "in that very neighbourhood." He sometimes ven- tured, also, to mutter something, unintelligibly, about the public being imposed upon ! On one occasion, he took 6«. in the street in about two hours. On another evening he took 4*. 8rf. in the street and was called aside by two old gen- tlemen, each of whom told him to come to an address given (at the West-end), and ask for such and such initials. To one he sold two packets for 2*. ; to the other, five packets, each 1*. — or 1 is. Sd. in one evening. The packets were in difierent coloured papers, and had the impres- sions of a large seal on red wax at the back ; and he assured the old gents., as he called them, one of whom, he thought, was "silly," that they were all different " And very likely," he said, chucklingly, " they were different; for they were made out of a lot of missionary tracts and old newspapers that I got dirt cheap at a 'waste' shop. 1 should like to have seen the old gent's face, as he opened his 5s, worth, one after another!" This trade, however, among old gentlemen, was prosperous for barely a month : " It got blown then, sir, and they wouldn't buy any more, except a very odd one." This man— and he believed it was the same with all the others in the trade — ^never visited the public-houses, for a packet would soon have been opened and torn there, which, he said, people was ashamed to do in the public streets. As well as he could recollect, he had never sold a single packet to a girl or a woman. Drunken women of the town had occasionally made loud comments on his calling, and oilcrcd Digitized by Google HINDOO TRACT- SELLER. [From a Daguerreotype by Beard.] Digitized by Google Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, 241 to purchase ; but on such occasious, fctirful of a disturbance, he always hurried away. I have said that the straw trade is now con- Jined to the country, and I give a specimen of the article vended there, by the patterer In the sham indecent trade. It was purchased of a man, who sold it folded in the form of a letter, and is addressed, ** On Royal Service. By Ex- press. Private. To Her Royal Highness, Vic toria. Princess Royal. Kensington Palace, London. Entered at Stationer's Hall." The man who sold it had a wisp of straw round his neck, and introduced his wares with the follow- ing patter : " I am well aware that many persons here present will say what an absurd idea — the idea of selling straws for a halfpenny each, when there are so many lying about the street ; but the reason is simply tliis : I am not allowed by the authorities to sell these papers, so I give them away and sell my straws. There are a variety of figures in these papers for gentlemen ; some in the bed, some on the bed, some under the bed." The following is a copy of the docu- ment thus sold : — " Bachelors or Maidens, Husbands and Wives, Will love each other and lead happy lives ; If both these Letters to read are inclined, Secrets worth knowing therein they will And. "Dated from the Duchy of Coburg. " Mr DsAllEtT ViCTORXA, IliDliuessQs' vns^ei, {bo^ laaAe losnbccaiqe uiyseif plepRasof ajieanou — vuxfouslyvvrviiiug Xonr royal- JoXuiqjipe aud fntiirdsovdrdign, Aeiy mvnXaiid liAiug snrad ou mipjlnoefy qouour, tqa^I Mill aiiaidv> uiy ineio |h«t euv{ep8tBt|on ojqeinStqy hnsqaud, rasias- In jhjisteudoui ; aud iihan^hon t(a«t daiSnsdjo 9xt(alt nudep kueas, %o jaAonr niXsnit, aqoAe «nyo}qer dqnce uj ail qeirsio vbjdjisqdiadam — I impiojeihoe ou uX ani|vbie oj Eug^aop'sdrtnaessos— «nd tqa uios) A|r)uons qiuyqionidlj Avi)h]U tqy o.wndoMnX dlnmvJSe! Mos) ohsnuiug uoies, audwijh jlntjeiiug Aiu^Rwisqe* )o wqo liife vbtrpoj pvrcdise, itoalnnStqeato iis)eu )o his dome )0 myiouginS aiains— )t ]8 oolXtqX pevr Aiqart, vmiaqU Vioojiv,' thetaos) date vnp Bdo)l9cs oj virjfius, fntnnti.audaoutmne )o prdamoj IOA0 vnptqea! y^y sqaflqe dncqaniep w|ttitqe mos) baantfTnl visiousoi mant oj )hei qalmXsiead I hwabaen (onJI iivntjaS, I noM sieapieffs oonch,aud resinlnJ mysoni )o tqeenJoX- wonnps— j,qenAiil I dlaasvnjlX rooose niysalj ou uiX bntcome «np ponr tqy qevl^nS belTOni{n)o luX tmaiting Aaniysvmvntvn, pass uoja.uaX jrom jqyvdojiug vlqeji; iugiovd! xhanqas^eu my flloiionsohamb— )hon haa- wqoieqopy \% qeptiicoui nmepln tqejujnvsa oj cAeilvs)- tvljsad Aii)hAvn»d aud aouftiatina euio)iouB, aud mX jusato po ihaiiojftca; avaaX oueoj uiy uieutbdrsvra jnn- fjra, oiyjea) siumbies— Xcv, inX wnus andiay lags jie- luy sansasifcaudar, uiy qairtjnuds ou cup, mi qevd isou Mirsdtqealu uiyaams— MAqosomqcBvas, luy t(ear)p«n)s, tqylovolX form, audioug for jhahvpdy qonr wqeuf sqall royvlql^uess — my sAeejestauSei, oq ! qow I po aporo dojinjo tqe pafUlhifuitvsk oj Ari^iojia loAe latjeito ^hX navarpip I et^oXgievtar qlfss, ihauwqeul sv) " Your adored Lover, "ALBERT, " P&IKCe OP CODUKO.'* On the back of this page is the following cool initiation of the purchaser into the mysteries of tlic epistle : "Directions for the purchasers to understand the Rogal Lote Leitert, and sliowing them how to practise the art of Secret Letter Writing :— " Troceed to lay open * Albert's Letter* by the side of ' Victoria's,' and having done so, then look carefnlly down tliem until you have romc to a word at the left hand comer, near the end of each Letter, having two marks thus , when you must commence with that word, and read ftom left to right after you have turned thcro bottom upwards before a looking glass so that you may peruse the copy reflected therein. But you must notice, throughout all the words every other letter is upside down, also every other word single; but the next two words lieing purposely joined together, there- fore they are double ; and in addition to those letters placed upside down, makes it more mysterious in the reading. The reader is recommended to copy each word in writing, when he will be able to read the letters forward, and aiter a little practice he can soon learn to form all his words in the same curious manner, when he wants to write a 'secret letter.' ** Be sure when holding it up side down before a looking-glass, that the ll'^ht of a candle, is placed be- tween then by the reflection it will show much plainer, and be sooner discovered. "If you intend to practise a Joke and make it answer the purpose of a Valentine, write what you think ne- cessary on the adjoining btattic pagt; then post it, with the superscription filled up in this manner: — After tlie word To, writt the name and addreu of the party also place the word FROM before 'VICTORIA'S' name : then the address on the outside of this letter will read somewhat after the following fashion :— To Mr. or Mrs. so and so, (with the number if any,) in such ' and such a street : at the same time your letter will appear as if it came ftrom Royalty. "N.B. You must flrat buy both the letters, as the other letter is an answer to this one; and because, without the reader has got both letters, he will not have the secrets perfect." Notwithstanding the injimction to buy both letters, and the seeming necessity of having both to understand the " directions," the patterer was selling only the one I have given. That the trade in sham indecent publications was, at one time, very considerable, and was not unobserved bv those who watch, as it is called, " the signs of the times," is shown by the cir- cumstance that the An ti- Corn- Law League paper, called tlic BrecuL Basket^ could only be got off by being done up in a sealed packet, and sold by patterers as a pretended improper work. The really indecent trade will be described hereafter. For a month my infonnaut thought he had cleared 35*. a week ; for another month, 20*. ; and as an average, since that time, from 5j. to 7*. Crf. weekly, imtil he discontinued the trade. It is very seldom practised, unless in the even- ing, and perhaps only one street-seller depends entirely upon it. Supposing that 6 men last ysar each cleared C*. weekly, we find upwards of 93/. expended yearly in the streets on this rubbish. The capital required to start in the bushiess is 6rf. or 1*., to be expended in paper, paste, and sometimes sealing-wax. Of Religious Tract Sellers. The sellers of religious tracts arc now, I am informed, at the least, about 50, but they were at one time, far more numerous. When penny books were few and very small, religious tracts were by far the cheapest things in print. It is common, moreover, for a religious society, or an individual, to give a poor person, children especially, tracts for sale. A great many tract sellers, from 25 to 35 years ago, were, or pre- Digitized by Google 242 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. tended to be, maimed. old soldiers or sailors. The traffic is now in the hands of what may be called an anomalous body of men. More than one half of the tract sellers are foreigners, such as Malays, Hindoos, and Negros. Of them, some cannot speak English, and some—who earn a spare subsistence by selling Christian tracts — are Mahometans, or worshippers of Bramah! The man whose portrait supplies the daguerreotyped illustration of this number is unable to speak a word of English, and the absence of an interpreter, through some acci- dent, prevented his statement being taken at the time appointed. I shall give it, however, with the necessary details on the subject, under another head. With some men and boys, I am informed, tract-selling is but a pretext for begging. Of a Benefit Society of Patterers. In the course of my inquiries, I received an account of an eflfort made by a body of these l)eople to provide against sickness,— a step S04 clearly in the right direction, and perhaps so little to be expected from the habits of the class, that I feel bound to notice it It was called the " Street- sellers* Society;" but as nearly all the band-fide members (or those who sought benefit from its fimds) were patterers in paper, or ballad-singers, I can most appropriately notice their proceedings here. The society " sprung up accidental,'* as it was expressed to me. A few paper-workers were conversing of the desirableness of such an institution, and one of the body suggested a benefit club, which it was at once determined to establish. It was accordingly established be- tween six and seven years ago, and was carried on for about four years. The members varied in number from 40 to 50 ; but of a proportion of 40, as many as 18 might be tradesmen who were interested in the street-trade, either in supplying the articles in demand for it, or from keeping public -houses resorted to by the frater- nity, or any such motive, or who were merely curious to mix in such society. Mr. C was conductor ; Mr. J. II (a poet, and the writer of " Black Bess," " the Demon of the Sea," and other things which " took" in the streets), secre- tary; and a well-known patterer was under- conductor, with which office was mixed up the rather onerous dtities of a kind of master of the ceremonies on meeting-nights. None of the officers were paid. The subscription was 2(L a week, and meet- ings of the members were held once a week. Each member, not an officer, paid ^cL for ad- mission to the fund, and could introduce a visitor, who also paid Jrf. No charge was made for the use of the club- room (in a public-house), wliich was entirely in the control of the mem- bers. Every one using bad language, or be- having improperly, was fined ^d., and on a second offence was ejected, and sometimes, if the misbehaviour was gross, on the first Any one called upon to sing, and refusing, or being imable, waa fined }//., and was liable to be called upon again, and pay another fine. A visitor sometimes, instead of |d., offered 6d, when fined; but this was not accepted, — only Id. could be received. The members' wives could and did often accompany their husbands to the meetings ; but women of the town, whe- ther introduced by members or not, were not permitted to remain. " They found their way in a few times," said the man who was under- conductor to me, " but I managed to work them out without any bother, and without insulting them— God forbid ! " The assistance given was 5s. weekly to sick members, who were not in arrear in their sub- scriptions. If the man had a family to support, a gathering was made for him, in addition to his weekly allowance, — for the members were averse to "distress the box" (fund). There was no allowance for the burial of a member, but a gathering took place, and perhaps a raffie, to raise funds for a wake (sometimes) and an inter- ment ; and during the existence of the society, three members, I was told, were buried that way " comfortably.*' The subscriptions were paid up regularly enough ; " indeed," said a member to me, " if a man earned anything, his mates knew of it: we all know how the cat jumps that way, so he must either pay or be scratched.'* The members not unfrequeutly lent each other money to pay up their subscri))tions. Fashionable young " swells,*' I was told, often visited the house, and stayed till 3 or 4 in the morning, but were very seldom in the club-room, which was closed regularly at 12. After that hour, the "swells'* who were bent upon seeing life — (and they are a class whom the patterers, on all such occasions, not so very imreasonably consider " fair game" for bamboozling)— could enjoy the society congenial to their tastes or gratifying to their curiosity. On one occa&ion two policemen were among the visitors, and were on friendly terms enough with the mem- bers, some of whom they had seen before. From the beginning there seems to have been a distrust of one another among the members, but a distrust not invincible or the club wouhl never have been formed. Instead of the " box," or fund (the money being deposited in a box), being allowed to accumulate, so that an investment might be realised, available for any emergency, the fund was divided among the members quarterly, and then the subscription went on anew. The payments, however, fell ofld The calling of the members was preca- rious, their absence in the country was frequent, and so the society ceased to exist, but the mem- bers were satisfied that every thing was done honourably. The purpose to which the ftmds, on a quar- terly division, were devoted, was one not con- fined to such men as the patterers— to a supper. " None of your light suppers, sir," said a mem- ber ; " not by no means. And we were too fly to send anybody to market but ourselves. We used to go to Leadenhall, and buy a cut oflf a Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, 243 sirloin, which was roasted prime, and smelt like a angel. But not so often, for its a dear jint, the bones is heavy. One of the favouritcst jints was a boiled leg of mutton with caper trim- mings. That it a good supper,— I believe you, my hero." Of the Abodes, Tricks, Marriage, Cha- racter, AND Characteristics of the Different Grades of Patterers. Having now giving an account of those who njay be called me literary patterers (proper), or at any rate of those who do not deem it vain so to account themselves, because they " work paper,'* I proceed to adduce an account of the different grades of patterers generally, for patter has almost as many divisions as litera^ ture. There is patter pathetic, as from beg- gars ; bouncing, to puff off anything of little or no value ; comic, as by the clowns ; descrip- tive, as in the cases where the vendor describes, however ornately, what he really sells; reli- gious, as occasionally by the vendors of tracts ; real patter (as it is understood bv the profes- sion) to make a thing believed to be what it is not; classical, as in the case of the sale of stenographic cards, &c ; and sporting, as in race cards. The pattering tribe is by no means confined to the traffic in paper, though it may be the principal calling as regards the acuteness of its professors. Among these street-folk are the running and standing patterers (or sutioners as they are sometimes, but rarely, styled)— and in these are included, the Death and Fire Hunters of whom I have spoken ; Chaunters ; Second Edition-sellers; Reciters; Conundrum- sellers; Board- workers ; Strawers; Sellers of (Sham) Indecent Publications ; Street Auc- tioneers; Cheap Jacks; Mountebanks (quacks); Clowns ; the various classes of Showmen ; Jugglers ; Conjurors ; Bing-sellers for wagers ; Sovereign -sellers ; Com-curers ; Grease -re- movers ; French-polishers ; Blackhig-sellers ; Nostrum- vendors ; Fortune-tellers ; Oratori- cal-beggars; Turnpike-sailors; tlie classes of Lurkers ; Stenographic Card-sellers, and the Vendors of Race-cards or lists. The following accounts have been written for me by the same gentleman who has already described the Religion, Morals, &c., of pat- terers. He has for some years resided among the class, and has pursued a street calling for his existence. What I have already said of his opportunities of personal observation and of dis- passionate judgment I need not iterate. " I wish," says the writer in question, " in the disclosures I am now about to make concern- ing the patterers generally, to do mere than merely put the public on their guard. I take no cruel delight in dragging forth the follies of my fellow-men. Before I have done with my subject, I hope to draw forth and exhibit some of the latent virtues of the class under notice, many of whom I know to sigh in secret over that one imprudent step (whatever its descrip- tion), which has furnished the censorious with a weapon they have been but too ready to wield. The first thing for me to do is to give a glance at the habitations of these outcasts, and to set forth their usual conduct, opinions, conversation and amusements. As London (in- cluding the ten mile circle), is the head quar- ters of lodging-house life, and least known, because most crowded, I shall lift the veil which shrouds the vagrant hovel where the patterer usually resides. '* As there are many individuals in lodging- houses who are not regular patterers or pro- fessional vagrants, being rather, as they term themselves, * travellers' (or tramps), so there are multitudes who do not inhabit such houses who really belong to the fraternity, pattering, or vagrant. Of these some take up their abode in what they call ' flatty-kens,' that is, houses the landlord of which is not ' awake ' or ' fly ' to the ' moves ' and dodges of the trade ; others resort to the regular ' padding-kens,' or houses of cidl for vagabonds ; while others — and espe- cially those who have families — live constantly in furnished rooms, and have little intercourse with the * regular ' travellers, tramps, or wanderers. "The medium houses the London vagrant haunts, (for I have no wish to go to extremes either way,) are probably in Westminster, and perhaps the fairest 'model' of the * monkry* is the house in Orchard- street — once the residence of royalty — which has been kept and conducted for half a century by the veteran who some fifty years ago was the outy man who amused the population with that well-known ditty, * If I'd as much money as I could tell, I would not cry young lambs to sell.' Mister (for that is the old man's title) still manufactures lambs, but seldom goes out him- self; his sons (obedient and exemplary young men) take the toys into the country, and dispose of them at fairs and markets. The wife of this man is a woman of some beauty and good sound sense, but far too credulous for the position of which she is the mistress. *' So much for the establishment I have now to deal with the inmates. " No one could be long an inmate of Mr. 's without discerning in the motley group persons who had seen better days, and, seated on the same bench, persons who are 'seeing' the best days they ever saw. When I took up my abode in the house under consideration, I was struck by the appearance of a middle-aged lady-like woman, a native of Worcester, bred to the glove trade, and brought up in tlie Jap of plenty, and under the high sanction of religious prinaple. She had evidently some source of mental anguish. I believe it was the conduct of her husband, by whom she had been deserted, and who was living with a woman to whom, it is said, the wife had shown much kindness. By her sat a giant in sixe, and candour demands Digitized by Google 244 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, tliat I should say a * giant in sin.* When Navy Jem, as he is called, used to work for his living (it was a long while ago) he drove a harrow at the formation of the Great Western Railway. At present the man lies m bed till mid-day, and when he makes his appearance in the kitchen, •The very kittens on the hearth They dare not even play.' His breakfast embraces all the good things of the season. He divides his delicacies with a silver fork— where did he get it ? The mode in which this man obtains a livelihood is at once a mixture and a mystery. His prevailing plan is to waylay gentlemen in the decline of life, and to extort money by threats of accusation and exposure, to which I can do no more than allude. His wife, a notorious shoplifter, is now for the third time * expiating her offences* in Coldbath-fields. •• Next to Navy Jem may be perceived a little stunted woman, of pretended Scotch, but really Irish extraction, whose husband has died in the hospital for consumption at least as many times as the hero of Waterloo has seen engagements. At last the man did die, and his widow has been collecting money to bury him for ei^ht years past, but has not yet secured the rcqmred sum. This woman, whose name I never knew, has a boy and a girl ; to the former she is very kind, the latter she beats without mercy, always before breakfast, and with such (almost) unvaried punctuality that her brother will sometimes whisper (after saying grace), * Mother, has our Poll bad her licks yet ? * " Among the records of mortality lately before the public, is the account of a notorious woman, who was found suffocated in a stagnant pool, whether from suicide or accident it was impos- sible to determine. She had been in every hospital in town and country, suiTering from a disease, entirely self- procured. She applied strong acids to wounds previously ptmctured with a pin, and so caused her body to present one mass of sores. She was deemed incurable by the hospital doctors, and liberal collections were made for her among the benevolent in various places. The trick, however, was ulti- mately discovered, and the failure of her plan (added to the bad state of health to which her bodily injuries had gradually led) preyed upon her mind and hastened her death. **Thi8 woman had been the paramour of * Peter the crossing-sweeper,' a man who for years went about showing similar wounds, which he pretended had been in^cted while fighting in the Spanish Legion— though, truth to say, he had never been nearer Spain than Liveipool is to New York. He had followed the * monkry ' from a child, and chiefly, since manhood, as a 'broken-down weaver from Leicester,' and after singing through every one of the provinces 'We've got no work to do,' he scraped acquaintance with n 'schocd of shallow coves ; * that is, men who go about half-naked, telling frightful tales about ship- wrecks, hair-breadth escapes from houses on fire, and such like aqueous and igneous cala- mities. By these Peter was initiated into the * scaldrum dodge,* or the art of burning the body with a mixture of acids and ^^unpowder, so as to suit the hues and complexions of the accident to be deplored. Such persons hold every morning a ' committee of ways and means,' according to whose decision the move- ments of the day are carried out Sometimes when on their country rounds, they go singly up to the houses of the gentry and wealthy fanners, l>egging shirts, wliich tliey hide in hedges while tliey go to another house and beg a similar article. Sometimes tliey go in crowds, to the number of from twelve to twenty; they are most successful when the ' swell • is not at home ; if they can meet witli the 'Burerk' (Mistress), or the young ladies, tliey 'put it on them for dunnage' (beg a stock of general clothing), flattering their vic- tims first and frightening them afterwards. A friend of mine was present in a lodging- Iioum; in Plymouth, when a school of the bliallow coves returned from their day's work with six shUs qf clotkeSt and twenty-seven shirts, besides children's apparel and shoes, (all of which were sold to a broker in the same street), and, besides these, the donations in money received amounted to 4«. 4rf. a man. " At this enterprise * Peter ' continued seve- ral years, but — to use his own words—' every- thing has but a time,' the countiy got ' dead ' to him, and people got ' fly ' to tlie ' shallow brigade ;' so Peter came up to I^ondon to * try his hand at something else.' Housed in the domicile of 'Sayer the barber,' who has en- riched himself by beer-shops and lodging- house- keeping, to the tune it is said of 20,000/., Peter amused the ' travellers ' of Wentwortli- street, Whitechapel, with recitals of what he had seen and done. Here a profligate, but rather intelligent man, who had really been in the service of the Queen of Spain, gave him an old red jacket, and with it such mstructions as equipped him for the imposition. One sleeve of this jacket usually hung loosely by his side, while the arm it should have covered was ex- posed naked, and to all appearance withered. His rule was to keep silence till a crowd assem- bled around him, when he began to ' f tatter ' to them to the following efibct ; ' Ladies and gentlemen, it is with feelings of no common reluctance tliat I stand before you at this time ; but although I am tiot without feelings, I am totally without friends, and frequently without food. This womid (showing his disfigured arm) I received in the service of the Uueen of Spain, and I have many more on different parts of my person. I received a little praise for my brave conduct, but not a penny of pension, and here I am (there's no deception you see) ill in health — poor in pocket, and exposed without proper nourishment to wind and weather — the cold is blowing through me till I am almost perished.' His * Doxy* stood by and received Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND TUB LONDON POOR,' 2U the * vohmtary contributbns ' of the audience in a soldier's cap, wliich oar hero emptied into hii pocket, and after tnivelling oat his thanks, departed to renew the exhibition in the nearest available thoroughfare. Peter boasted that he could make on an average fifteen of these pitches a day, and as the proceeds were esti- mated at something considerable in eaoh pitch (he has been known to take as much as half- a- crown in pence at one standing), he was able to sport his figure at Astley's in the evening — to eat 'spring lamb,' and when reeling home under the influence of whiskey, to entertain the peacef\il inhabitants with the music of— *We won't go home till morning * " AVhether the game got stale^ or Peter became honest, is beyond the purport of my commu- nication to settle. If any reader, however, should make his purchases at the puffing fish- monger's in Lombard. street, they may find Peter now pursuing the more honest occupa- tion of sweeping the crossing, by the church of St. Gabriel, Fenchurch-street. " Among the most famous of the ' lurking pattercrs ' was * Captain Moody,' the son of poor but honest parents in the county of Corn- wall, who died during his boyhood, leaving him to the custody of a maiden aunt This lady soon, and not without reason, got tired of her incorrigible charge. Young Moody was ap- prenticed successively to three trades, and wanted not ability to become expert in any of them, but having occasional interviews with some of the gipsey tribe, and hearing from themselves of their wonderful achievements, he left the sober walks of life and joined this vagrant firatemity. ** His new position, however, was attractive only while it was novel. Moody, who had received a fair education, soon became disgusted vrith the coarseness and vulgarity of his associates. At the solicitation of a neighbouring clergy- man, he was restored to the friendship of his aunt, who had soon sad reason to regret tliat her compassion had got the better of her prudence ; for one Sunday afternoon, while she was absent at church, young Moody who had pleaded in- disposition and so obtained permission to stay at home, decamped (after dispatching the ser- vant to the town, a mile distant, to fetch the doctor) in the meantime, emptying his aunt's ' safety cupboard ' of a couple of gold watches and ^72 in cash and country notes. " His roving disposition then induced hira to try the sea, and the knowledge he obtained during several voyages fitted him for those maritime frauds which got him the name of *CapUin Moody, the lurker.' The frauds of this person are well known, and often recounted with great admiration among the pattering fVa- temity. On one occasion, the principal butcher in Oosnort was summoned to meet a gentlemen at an hotel. The Louisa^ a brig, had just ar- rived at Portsmouth, the captain's name was Young, and this gentleman Moody personated for the time being. * I have occasion,' said he to the butcher, * for an additional supply of beef for the Lguua ; I have heard you spoken of by Captaiu Harrison' (whom Moody knew to be an old friend of the butcher's), ' and I have thus given you the preference. I want a bul- lock, cut up in 121b. pieces; it must be on board by three to-morrow.' The price was agreed upon, and the captain threw down a few sovereigns in payment, but, of co^se, disco- vered that he had not gold enough to cover the whole amount, so he proposed to give him a cheque he had just received firam Captain Harri- son H>r jglOO, and the butcher could give him the dlfi^eucc. The tradesman was nothing loth, for a cheque upon * Yallance, Mills, and West,' with Captain Harrison's signature, was reckoned equal to money any day, and so the butcher considered the one he had received, imtil (he next morning, when the dra{^ and the order proved to be forgeries. The culprit was, of course, nowhere to be found, nor, indeed, heaird of till two years after, when he had removed the scene of liis depredations to Liverpool. "In that port he had a colleague, a oaao whose manners and appearance were equally prepos- sessing. Moody sent his 'pal' into « jeweller's shop, near the comer of Lord- street, who there purchased a smaU gold seal, paid for it, and took his leave. Imme£ately afterwards. Moody en- tered the shop under evident excitement, declar- ing that he had seen the person, who had just left the shop secrete two, if not three, seals up his coat-sleeve ; adding, Utat the fellow had just gone through the Exchange, and that if the jeweller were quick he woiud be sure to catch him. The jeweller ran out without his hat, leaving his kind friend in charge of the shop, and soon returned with the supposed criminal in his custody. The 'captain,' however, in the mean time, had decamped, taking with him a tray from the window, containing precious mate- rials to the value of 300/. "At another time, the 'captain' prepared a document, setting forth 'losses in the Baltic trade,' and a dismal variety of disasters ; and concluding with a melancholy shipwreck, which had really taken phice just about that time in the German Ocean. With this he travelled oyer great part of Scotland, and with almost unpre- cedented success. Journeying near the Frith oC Forth, he paid a visit to Lord Dalmeny— a noblenum of great beneyolenee — who had read the account of the shipwreck in the local jour- nals, and wondered that the petition was not signed by influential pertoos on tkt tpat ; and, somewhat suspicious of the reality of the ' cap- tain's' identity, placed a terrestrial globe before him, and begged to be shown * in what latitude he was cast away.' The awkwardness with which Moody handled. the globe showed thai he was ' out of Ate latitude' altogether. His lordship thereupon committed the documoat to the flames, but generously gave the ' eaptaia' a sovereign and some good advice ; the former he appropriated at the nearest public-house, of the latter he never made the least use. Digitized by Google 246 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, ** Old, and worn out by excesses and impri- sonment, he subsists now by * sitting pad' about the suburban pavements ; and when, ou a recent evening, he was recognised in a low public- house in Deptford, he was heard to say, with a sigh: 'Ahl once I could ^'screeve a fake- ment" (write a petition) or "cooper a mone- kur" (forge a signature) with any man alive, and my heart's game now; but I'm old and asthmatic, and got the rheumatis, so that I ain't worth a d — n/ " ' The Lady Lurker.' — Of this person very little is known, and that little, it is said, makes her an object of pity. Her father was a dissent- ing minister in Bedfordshire. She has been twice married ; her first husband was a school- master at Hackney, and nephew of u famous divine who wrote a Commentai^ on the Bible, and was chaplain to George III. She after- wards married a physician in Cambridgeshire (a Dr. S ), who is alleged to have treated her ill, and ^ven to have attempted to poison her. She has no childi^u:: and, since the death of her husband, has passed through various grades, till she is now a caidger. She drca::es becomingly in black, and sends in her card (Mrs. l»r. S ) to the houses whose occupants are knowu, or supposed, to be charitable. She talks with there for a certain time, and then draws forth a few boxes of lucifers, which, she says, she is com- pelled to sell for her living. These lucifers are merely excuses, of course, for begging; still, nothing is known to have ever transpired in her behaviour wholly unworthy of a distressed gen- tlewoman. She lives in private lodgings." I continue the account of these habitations, and of their wretched occupants, from the pen of the same gentleman whose vicissitudes (partly self-procured) led him to several years' acquaint- ance with the subject. " Padding-kens" (lodging-houses) in the coun- try are certainly preferable abodes to those of St Giles's, Westminster, or Whitechapel ; but in country as in town, their condition is extremely filthy and disgusting; many of them are scarcely ever washed, and as to sweeping, once a week is miraculous. In most cases they swarm vrith vermin, and, except where their position is very air^, the ventilation is imperfect, and fre- quent sickness the necessary result. It is a matter of surprise that the nobility, clergy, and gentry of the realm should permit the existence of such horrid dwellings. " I think," continues my informant, " that the majority of these poor wretches are without even the idea of respectability or ' home comforts,' — many of them must be ranked among the worst of our population. Some, who could live else- where, pi^er these wretched abodes, because they answer various evil purposes. With beg- gars, patteren, hawkers, tramps, and vendors of their own manufacture, are mingled thieves, women of easy virtue, and men of no virtue at all ; a few, and by far the smallest portion, are persons who once filled posts of credit and affluence, but whom bankruptcy, want of em- plo3rment, or sickness has driven to these dismal retreats. The vast majority of London vagrants take their summer vacation in the country, and the 'dodges' of both are interchanged, and every new * move ' circulates in almost no time. " I will endeavour to sketch a few of the most renowned * performers' on this theatre of action. By far the most illustrious is * Nicholas A ,' an ame known to the whole cadging fraternity as a real descendant from Bamfylde Moore Carew, and the * prince of lurkers' and pat- terers for thirty years past This man owes much of his success to his confessedly unposing appearance, and many of his escapes to the known respectability of his connections. His father — yet alive — is a retired captain in the Royal Navy, a gentleman of good private property, and one of her Majesty's justices of peace for the county of Devon — the southern extremity of which was the birth-place of Nicholas. But little is known of his early days. He went to school at Tavistock, where he received a good education, and began life by cheating his school- fellows. " The foolish fondness of an indulgent mother, and some want of firmness in paternal disci- pline, accelerated the growth of every weed of infamy in Nicholas, and baffled every ex- neriment, by sea and land, \o * set ' liim up in life. " Scarcely was he out of his teens, when he honoured the sister country with his visits and his depredations. About the centre of Sackville- street, Dublin, there lived a wealthy silversmith of the name of Wise. Into his shop (accom- panied by one of his pals in livery) went Nicho- las, whose gentlemanly exterior, as I have already hinted, would disarm suspicion in a stranger. " * Good morning sir, is your name Wise? — Yes, air. — Well, that is my name. — Indeed, of the English family, I suppose ? — Yes, sir, East Kent— Oh, indeed 1 related to the ladies of Leeds Castle, I presume ? — I have the honour to be their brother. — James, is your name James or John? — Neitlier, sir, it is Jacob. — Oh, indeed! a very ancient name. — Well, I have occasion to give a party at the Com Exchange Tavern, and I want a little plate on hire, can you supply me?' — A very polite affirmative settled this part of the business. Plate to the amount of 150/. was selected and arranged, when Nicholas discovered that his pocket-book was at home (to complete the deception, his right arm was in a sling). < Will you, Mr. Wise (you see my infirmity), write me a few lines ? — With the greatest pleasure,' was the silversmith's reply. — *Well, let me see. " Mjf dear, do not be surprised at this ; / want 1502., or all the money you can send, per bearer; I wiU explain at dinner-time, J. Wise." " 'Now, John, take this to your mistress, and be quick.' As John was not very hasty in his return, Nicholas went to look for hfm, leaving a strict injunction that the plate should be sent to the Com Exchange Tavern, as soon as the deposit was received. This happened at eleven Digitized by Google LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. 247 in the forenoon — the clock struck five and no return of either the master or the man. " The jeweller left a message with his ap- prentice, and went home to his dinner. He was met at the door of his suburban villa by his ' better half/ who wondered what made him so late, and wished to know the nature of the exigency which had caused him to send home for so much money? The good man's per]>lexity was at an end when he saw his own handvnriting on the note ; and every means within the range of constabulary vigilance was taken to capture the offender, but Nicholas and his servant got clear oE *' This man's ingenuity was then taxed as to the next move, so he thought it expedient to taz somebody else. He went with his 'pal' to a miscellaneous repository, where they bought a couple of old ledgers — useful only as waste paper, a bag to hold money, two ink-bottles, &c. Thus equipped, they waited on the farmers of the district, and exhibited a ' fakement,' setting forth parliamentary authority for imposing a tax upon the geese ! They succeeded to admiration, and weeks elapsed before the hoax was disco- vered. The coolness of thus assuming legisla- torial functions, and being, at the same time, the executive power, has rarely been equalled. " There is an old proverb, that ' It is an ill wind that blows nobody good.' The gallant * cap- tain' was domiciled at a lodging-house in Gains- borough, Lincolnshire, where he found all the lodgers complaining of the badness of the times — most of them were makers of nets. He sal- lied forth to all the general shops, and left his (fictitious) * captain' card at each, with an order for an unusual number of nets. This 'dodge' gave a week's work to at least twenty poor peo])le; but whether the shopkeepers were * caught in a net,' or the articles were paid for and removed by the 'captain,' or whether it was a piece of pastime on his part, I did not stay long enough to ascertain. " Nicholas A is now in his sixty-second year, a perfect hypochondriac. On his own au- thority— and it is, no doubt, too true — he has been ' lurking ' on every conceivable system, from forging a bill of exchange down to ' maun- dering on the fiyy* for the greater part of his life ; and, excepting the ' himdred and thirteen times' he has been in provincial jails, society has endured the scourge of his deceptions for a qiuirter of a century at leasL He now lives with a young prostitute in Portsmouth, and con- tributes to her wretched earnings an allowance of 5s, a week, paid to him by the attorney of a distant and disgusted relative." The writer of this accoimt was himself two whole years on the "moiiJcry," before he saw a lodging-house for tramps ; and the first he ever saw was one well-known to every patterer in Christendom, and whose fame he says is " gone out into all lands," for its wayfaring inmates are very proud of its popularity. "It may be as well," writes the informant in question, "before submitting the following account, to state that there are other, and more elaborate marks — the hieroglyphics of tramping — than those already given. I will accordingly explain them. " Two hawkers (pals) go together, but separate when they enter a village, one taking each side of the road, and selling different things ; and, so as to inform each other as to the character of the people at whose houses they call, they chalk certain marks on their door-posts : " r»- means * Go on. / have called here ; don't you call — it's no go.' " fv means * Stop — you may call here ; they want' (for instance) 'what you sell, though not what / sell ;' or else, ' They had no change when I was there, but may have it now ;' or, ' If they don't buy, at least they'll treat you civilly.' " 0- on a comer-house, or a sign-post, means, ' I went this way ;* or * Go on in this direc- tion.' " :h- on a comer-house, or sign-post, means * Stop — don't go any further in this direction.' "0 as before explained, means ' danger.' " Like many other young men, I had lived above my income, and, too proud to crave parental forgiveness, had thrown off the bonds of authority for a life of adventure. I was now homeless upon the world. With a body capable of either exertion or fatigue, and a heart not easily terrified by danger, I endured rather than enjoyed my itinerant position. I sold small articles of Tunbridge ware, perfumery, &c.. &c., and by 'munging' (begging) over them— some- times in Latin — got a better living than I ex- pected, or probaWy deserved. I was always of temperate and rather abstemious habits, but ignorant of the haunts of other wanderers, (whom I saw in dozens every day upon every road, and every conceivable pursuit) I took up my nightly quarters at a sort of third-rate public-houses, and supposed that my contem- poraries did the same. How long my igno- rance might have continued (if left to myself) I can hardly determine ; an adventure at a road-side inn, however, removed the veil from my eyes, and I became gfradually and speedily * awake' to * every move on the board.' It was a lovely evening in July, the air was serene and the scenery romantic ; my own feelings were in unison with both, and enhanced perhaps by the fact that I had beguiled the last two miles of my deliberate walk with a page out of my pocket- companion, ' Burke on the Sublime and Beauti- ful.' I was now smoking my pipe and quaffing A pint of real ' Yorkshire stingo' in the ' keep- ing room' (a term which combines parlour and kitchen in one word) of a real ' Yorkshire vil- lage,' Dranfield, near Sheffield. A young person of the other sex was my only and accidental companion ; she had been driven into the house by the over-officiousness of a vigilant village constable, who finding that she sold lace with- out a license, and — infinitely worse — reftised to listen to his advances, had warned her to ' make herself scarce ' at her * earliest possible conve- nience.' Digitized by Google 248 LONDON LABOUR AND THE LONDON POOR. " Having elicited what I did for a living, she popped the startling question to me, * Where do you " hang out" in Sheffield ? ' I told her that I had never been in Sheffield, and did not *hang out' my little wares, but used my per- suasive art to induce the purchase of tliem. The lady said, ♦ Well, you are ** green." I mean, where do you rfo*/' This was no better, it seemed something like Greek, — ' delta, omicrou, sigma,' (I retain the " patterer's'* own words to show the education of the class) — but the etymo- logy was no relief to the perplexity. * Where do you mean to sleep ? ' she inquired. I re- ferred to mv usual practice of adjourning to an humble public-house. My companion at once threw off all manner of disguise, and said, * Well, sir, you are a young man that I have taken a liking to, and if you think you should like my company, I will take you to a lodging where there is plenty of travellers, and vou will see *' all sorts of life.' " I Hked the girl's com- pany, and our mutual acquiescence made us companions on the road. We had not got far before we met the aforesaid constable in com- pany with an unmistakeable member of tlie Rural Police. They made some inquiries of me, which I thought exceeded their commis- sion. I replied to them witli n mutilated Ode of Horace, when they both determined that I was a Frenchman, and allowed us to * go on our way rejoicing.' " Tlie smoky, though well-built, town of Shef- field was now near at hand. The daylight was past,' and tlie ' shades of the evening were stretching out ; ' we were therefore enabled to journey through the thoroughfares without im- pertinent remarks, or perhaps any obscrv.ition, except from a toothless old woman, of John Wesley's school, who was * sorry to see two such nice young people going about the country,' and wondered if wo * ever thought of eternity ! ' " After a somewhat tedious ramble, we arrived at Water- lane;— at the ' Bug-trap,' which from time immemorial has been the name of the most renowned lodging-house in that or per- haps any locality. Water-lane is a dark narrow street, crowded with human beings of the most degraded sort — the chosen atmosphere of cholera, and the stronghold of tlieft auid prostitution. In less than half an hour, my fair companion and myself were si])ping our tea, and eating Yorkshire cake in tiiis same lodging-house. ** * God bless every happy couple ! ' was echoed from a rude stentorian voice, while a still ruder hand bumped down upon our tea-table n red earthen dish of no small dimensions, into which was poured, from the mouth of a capacious bag, fragments of fish, flesh, and fowl, viands and vegetables of every sort, intermingled with bits of clieese and dollops of Yorkshire pudding. Tlie man to whom this heterogeneous mass be- longed, appeared anything but satisfled with his lot ' Well,' said he, ' I don't know what this 'ere monkry will come to, after a bit. Three bob and a tanner, and that there dish o' sera n (enough to feed two families for a fortnight) * is all I got this blessed day since seven o'clock in the morning, aad now it's nine at night' I ventured to say aomethmg, but a remark, too base for repetition, 'put the stunners on me,' and I held my peace. •' I was here surprised, on conversing with my young female companion, to find that she went to church, said her prayers night and morning, and knew many of the collects, some of which she repeated, besides a pleasing variety of Dr. Watts's hymns. At the death of her mother, her father had given up housekeeping; and, being too fond of a wandering life, had led his only child into habits like his own. "As the night advanced, the party at the * Bug-trap ' more than doubled. High-flyers, shallow-covet, turnpike-sailors, and swells out of luck, made up an aaaembly of fourscore human beings, more than half of whom were 'doomed to . sleep on a ' make-shift ' — in other words, on a platform, raised just ten inches above the floor of the garret, which it nearly equalled in dimensions. Here were to be hud- dled together, with very little covering, old men and women, young men and children, with no regard to age, sex, or propensities. **The 'mot' of the *ken' (nickname for 'matron of the tstabluhment*) had discovered that I was a 'more bettermost' sort of person, and hinted that, if I would * come down ' with twopence more (threepence was the regular nightly charge), I, • and the young g^ as I was with,' might have a little *crib' to ourselves in a little room, along with another woman wot was married and had a 'kid,' and whose husband had got a month for 'g^nddling in the main drag' (singing in the high street), and being ' cheekish' (saucy) to the beadle. " Next morning I bade adieu to tlie * Bug- trap,' and I hope for ever." The same informant further stated tliat he was some time upon " tramp " before he even knew of the existence of a common lodging- house J " After I had * matriculated ' at Shef- fleld," he says, " I continued some time going to public-houses to sleep, until my apparel having got shabby and my aoqnintance with misfor- tune more general, I submitted to be the asso- ciate of persons whom I never spoke to out of doors, and whose even slight acquaintance I have long renounced. My first introduction to a London paddin' ken was in Wliiteehapel, the place was then called Cat and Wheel- alley (now Commercial-street). On the spot where St Judo's church now stands was a double lodging-house, kept by a man named Shirley — one side of it was for single men and women, the other married couples ; as these ♦ couples ' made frequent exchanges, it is scarcely pro- bable that Mr. Shirley ever * asked to see their marriage lines.* These changes were, indeed, as common as they were disgusting. I knew two brothers (Birmingham nailers) who each brought a young woman out of service from the country. After a while each became dissatisfied Digitized by Google LONDON L4BOUR AND THE LONDON POOR, 249 with his partner. The mistress of the house (aii ohl procuress from Portsmouth) propose4 that they 8houl4 change their wives. Tliey did so, to the amusement of nine other couples sleeping on the sanie floor, and some of whom followed the example, and more than once during the night. *'When Cat and Wheel-alley was pulled down, the crew removed to George- yard; the proprietor died, and his wile sold the concern to a wooden-legged Welshman nan^ed Hughes (commonly cidled ' Taff*). I was there some time. * Taff* was a notorious receivef of stolen goods. I knew two little boys, who brought home six pairs of new Wellington boots, which this miscreant bonght at U. per pair ; and, when they had no luck, he would take the strap off his wooden-leg, and beat them through the naked- ness of tlieir rags. He boarded and lodged about a dozen Chelsea and Greenwich pension- ers. These he used to follow and watch closely till they got paid ; then (afUr they had settled with him) he would make them drunk, and rob them of the few sliillings they had left " One of these dens of infamy may be taken as a specimen of the whole class. They have generally a spacious, though often ill- ventilated, kitchen, the dirty dilapidated walls of which are hung with prints, while a shelf or two are fl(ene- rally, though barely, furnished with crockery and kitchen utensils. In some places knives and forks are not provided, unless a penny is left with the 'deputy,' or manager, till they are returned. A brush of any kind is a stranger, and a looking-glass would be a miracle. The average number of nightly lodgers is in winter 70, and in summer (when many visit the pro- vinces) from 40 to 45, The general charge is, if two sleep together, 3<^ per night, or ^td, for a single bed. In either case, it is by no means unusual to find IS or 20 in one small room, the heat and horrid smell from which are insuffisr- able ; and, where there are young children, the suircases are the lodgment of every kind of filth and abomination. & some houses there are rooms for families, where, on a rickety machine, which they dignify by the name of a bedstead, may be found the man, his wife, and a son or daughter, perhaps 18 years of age; while the younger children^